


Lube and Tube Socks

by Deadly_Sirius



Series: Unfinished Works [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, America AU, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choking, Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fratboy!Niall, Harry calls Zayn a slut (because he asks), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I really could go crazy with tags but imma try not to, M/M, Model!Zayn, Oral Sex, Partying, Post-Coital Cuddling, Recreational Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Updating tags as I go, fratboy!Liam, fratboy!harry, fratboy!louis, they all go to college, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadly_Sirius/pseuds/Deadly_Sirius
Summary: Harry's been elected president of his fraternity. The last president, Louis, happens to be best friends with a talented artist. And model, but that's only important when he's fucking Harry's mouth. Anyway, Harry's recording his first album and needs help with the album cover, so Louis recommends his mysterious and alluring best friend to help out. Zayn, not typically a fan of frat bros, begrudgingly agrees to help, only because he can't say no to Louis. But Harry ends up being way more fun than Zayn thought and maybe he wouldn't mind getting to know Harry outside of the work and the art.*Title from Harry's lyric change of Teenage Dirtbag lmao*WIP
Relationships: Eleanor Calder/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, it's a frat fic so the rest of them are straight soz
Series: Unfinished Works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1378408
Comments: 24
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Yes, I'm absolutely determined to add to the very limited number of Zarry fics in circulation. I hope you enjoyyy!
> 
> Fair warning: I totally absolutely did pair frat era Harry and Versus Versace era Zayn so.. uh.. this shit is POWERFUL.

Zayn Malik was one for first impressions, but not first chances. His mother raised him well and taught him his manners, so he could make small talk and smile at the right people until they put him in front of a camera and told him to pose. His friends were close and loyal; he didn't have time for fake people. He also worried, although he knew it was vain and somewhat privileged to say so, that certain people only stuck around for his appearance. Those that he chose to be in his life were in for good. He would defend them to the grave and expected them to do the same.

Louis Tomlinson was a bit of an exception. Not in the loyalty aspect; Louis was the fiercest friend Zayn had and treated him like a brother. But Zayn did not give people a first chance, they had to earn it. Louis, however, stole it. And he stole it so well--sitting next to Zayn in their Bio 101 lecture, talking through the entire class, and promptly never leaving his side again--that Zayn really never got a say in the matter anyway.

They've been friends since their first year of college, stumbling their way through classes and living away from home and college parties together. One thing they definitely did not do together, though, was rush frats. Louis did, and successfully. He was elected President last year, as a Junior, and had just stepped down to spend his Senior year in 'retirement,' as usual. He was busy captaining the soccer team this year, anyway.

As the opposite of an athlete, Zayn preferred to model rather than run around and sweat for fun. Plus, he got paid to let someone cake makeup onto his face while Louis caked mud onto the side of his calves and, often, his entire body. Zayn was decent at having acquaintances and best friends, but he wasn't good at the intermediary stage, which was where most of Louis's frat brothers sat in Louis's life. Zayn wanted to live on his own, anyway. Frats were never his thing.

Louis joked that fraternities were the only thing he had in common with his deadbeat dad, the one who got his mom pregnant and then left, causing her to drop out of college and start working so she could support Louis. Two stepdads and six siblings later, Louis's family is a hell of a lot more whole than his biological dad could've ever made it.

It was somewhat entertaining, the stark difference between the two despite their flawless dynamic. Louis swaggered around in sweatpants and t-shirts, sometimes tank tops or jerseys, and often a backwards hat or beanie. Zayn refused the labels 'emo' or 'edgy,' but could often be found walking next to his slightly shorter best friend in all black, or some other dark color scheme. It was sleek, ripped jeans and leather jackets and tight shirts that showed his model frame well. If he was going to be paid to look good, the least he could do was practice a bit in his day-to-day life.

But 'model Zayn' who painted and sketched, whose fallback plan, if modeling or becoming an R&B star never worked out, was to teach English to high schoolers, got along swimmingly with soccer team Captain, ex-President of a frat, 'dude-bro Louis.' The first time they smoked weed together was when Zayn knew Louis would probably end up being his Best Man at his wedding. Louis filled all of Zayn's casual, pondering silences with entertaining chatter. Louis knew when to push Zayn out of his brooding moods and when to give him space. Louis understood what it was like to grow up in a household of younger sisters.

Louis was a writer and what Zayn could do with pictures, Louis did with words. It meant he jumped straight into the deep questions with Zayn and never let him come up for air. He could talk Zayn into any prank and talk the two of them out of any trouble. He did so constantly for his frat brothers; his ability to placate the school administration and local police was one of the main reasons he was elected President in the first place.

But most of all, Louis was loyal. He always had Zayn's back, never steered him wrong, and would do anything Zayn needed him to do. He did absolutely nothing that Zayn _wanted_ him to do, but Louis always knew the difference and which buttons to press.

So when Louis asked Zayn for a favor, Zayn groaned and bitched and complained and said he wouldn't, but of course he would. Louis'd do the same for him, and it wasn't that big of a deal. At least, that's what Zayn told himself. He was helping out Louis, his best friend, by designing an album cover for one of his friends. It was a good chance for Zayn to get some of his art out there anyway and Zayn liked working with other artists and musicians.

The only problem, or the only thing Zayn repeatedly told himself to ignore, was the fact that this friend of Louis's was actually one of his frat brothers. Specifically, the one who'd taken over as President after Louis became a Senior.

To be fair, Zayn liked Louis a whole lot, and he liked some of his brothers.. fine. That was the problem, though; they were more people who wanted to be friends, but Zayn didn't do friends. He did "I vaguely know your name and will talk to you about your classes or work while we're waiting in line for coffee," and he did "I would trust you with a loaded gun against my temple," but he didn't do "we text occasionally and hangout but I don't necessarily know every single detail about your life."

Liam Payne, one of Louis's brothers who was in the same pledge class as the new President, was one of those people who desperately wanted to be friends with Zayn. Liam seemed.. nice, but he also seemed like a people pleaser and Zayn thought he wanted to be friends more because he was friends with everyone than because of who Zayn was. But out of all the brothers Louis had, Liam was the one he'd interacted with the most in the past two years, since Louis typically kept his frat life and his 'Zayn life' separate. Most of that was per Zayn's request, as their party scenes were very different, and there wasn't much else for Zayn to do with Louis's frat aside from party.

But he'd agreed, begrudgingly, to help out the new President, because Louis was Louis and Zayn would never say no to him. Zayn had met Harry Styles before, a few times, when he picked Louis up from the frat house or dropped him off after a long night of studying or smoking together. He'd also bumped into Harry a few times while walking around on campus with Louis, in between classes or practices or before Zayn had to go to a shoot. Louis kind of seemed to love the guy like a little brother and the old President definitely took Harry under his wing, so Zayn always made an effort to say 'hi' to Harry for Louis's sake.

Sometimes, Zayn joked about worrying if Harry was replacing him. Louis entertained the joke, but was clear there was no threat. He may have been very close with Harry, but their friendship couldn't be more different than Zayn and Louis's. Besides, Louis always insisted, he could have more than one best friend.

So Louis gave Harry Zayn's phone number and Harry sent an eager and excited text about working on the album cover that weekend. Zayn wasn't working and didn't have anything scheduled until the party he needed to arrive fashionably late (around 1 am) to on Friday (Saturday morning), which led to him lazily replying with an unbothered 'sure. 10pm friday if ur free. my place. get the address from lou.'

Zayn's last class of the week, a seminar on Toni Morrison, got out at 5:30. He smiled easily and nodded at his classmates' goodbyes as he slid his books and computer back into his bag. The professor waved from her desk as Zayn slipped out of the room, the hall not too crammed due to the later hour but still full with students getting out of class at the same time. The Humanities building at his university was typically one of the busiest.

"Zayn! Yo, Zayn!"

Zayn stepped out of the stream of students heading out and scanned the crowd for the familiar voice. Sure enough, after a few moments, a bright smile and brown curls squished under a backwards green snapback. Green Bay Packers boy.

"Hey, Harry," Zayn greeted, hands casually digging in the pockets of his leather jacket for his packet of cigarettes.

"I just got out of class and thought I saw you. Hard not to with the hair."

"Thanks," Zayn replied, choosing to take it as a compliment. He didn't think Harry was capable of anything but. "My agent's worried about it limiting jobs, but the fact that it was requested by an upcoming shoot says otherwise."

"Really? I like the green. And the length suits you," Harry said, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. They wouldn't be tight on most people, but his runner's quads and general toned muscles from cross country and track definitely had the material stretching.

"Mind if we head out?" Zayn asked, tilting his head to the door and shaking the carton in his hand.

"Oh, yeah. 'Course. You grabbing dinner?"

Zayn nodded in response as they rejoined the flow of traffic out of the building, this time less busy after a bit of waiting. "Yeah, gonna have a smoke or two and then grab something on my way back to my place. Was planning on cleaning up a bit and getting some shit done before you came over."

"Don't worry about it. I live in a frat house, dude. You really don't have to clean for me."

Zayn shrugged. The communal house wasn't actually dirty most of the time, aside from right after parties, but Zayn knew shared living spaces between college men would never be the epitome of cleanliness. Still, Louis ran a tight ship and he'd be surprised if Harry didn't, considering how much Louis mentored him. "Want one?" he asked instead, changing the subject and offering Harry a cigarette.

"Nah. I got asthma. 'Sides, try not to smoke too much for running, anyway. Thanks, though."

Zayn blew his smoke away from Harry out of courtesy, but Harry didn't seem too bothered as he didn't add any distance between them. Harry's phone buzzed, short but loud, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

The text conversation going on seemed to entertain him for at least half of Zayn's cigarette. As he neared the end of it, Harry put his phone away and looked sheepishly up at Zayn. "Sorry. Shouldn't have ignored you for my phone. Just some frat emergency that totally wasn't an emergency."

"'S fine." It was.

"Hey, look, so I know you said you wanted to meet later tonight, but I've kind of got this paper due midnight. I also haven't eaten yet, so would you mind if I tagged along while you grabbed some food and just went back with you after? Just so we'd finish up earlier. But, like, if you've got shit you need to do first that's totally fine, I'd get it if-"

"I don't mind. You'll just have to deal with my place being messy."

"That's totally cool."

"We're getting Thai. Hope you can handle your spice, white boy."

Harry, it turned out, could handle his spice. Maybe not as well as Zayn, but he grew up visiting family in Pakistan. Still, Harry got the same heat level as Zayn and only downed two glasses of water throughout dinner. He was doing better than Louis.

They'd walked to a nearby Thai place Zayn loved, the restaurant barely big enough for three tables crammed near the front window and loud from the sounds of the kitchen that took up most of the space. The menu sign above the counter hadn't been replaced in the past seven years or so, but Harry impressed Zayn by reading it and choosing what he wanted in the time it took Zayn to ramble out his usual order without thought. The fluorescent lighting gave Zayn a headache usually, so they ordered to-go and walked the eight minutes to Zayn's apartment.

They didn't talk much, going between introductory questions, casual conversation, and one or both of them checking their phone. Zayn didn't mind; he felt more uncomfortable by forced conversations than silence and was more than happy to walk his usual route quietly while Harry typed out a message with furrowed brows. Zayn had been best friends with Louis during the entirety of the previous year, obviously, and he knew well the demands of a fraternity President. Besides, he didn't really know Harry and they didn't owe each other anything.

"You have any roommates?" Harry asked, pocketing his phone after hitting send, as they approached Zayn's apartment building.

"Nope," Zayn answered simply.

After punching in the code for the door and heading upstairs, Zayn unlocked his front door and led Harry into his place. It was one main room with two additional doors inside: a closet by the entrance and a full bathroom. The kitchen and living space were open to each other and Zayn had set up a few clothing racks, somewhat accidentally, as a fake wall around his bed that was pushed into the corner against two more real walls. 

His bed had about four different blankets haphazardly thrown over the sheets. It was a nice mattress, but it sat on the floor. He was slightly too broke and way too busy to bother buying a frame, at least for now. Zayn preferred to spend his money, even as a college student, on art. His walls were full of it. Some colored, some in black and white, some photography, some prints of paintings, some real paintings, drawings, posters, anything he could get his hands on. He had one section, above his bed and next to a window, of polaroids of his family and friends.

He had another section, behind the couch, where he hung vinyl records with the nicer album covers. The rest were stacked on a shelf under his record player. Plenty of the art on his walls was made by friends or by himself, his easel set up in the corner opposite his bed. His pencils and sketchbook were splayed on the coffee table by the couch, to the right of the entrance and on the same wall as his bed.

A large window spanned most of the back wall, his mattress in the rightmost corner of it. Unfortunately, since he lived in the city, his view was the brick wall of the apartment building behind his, but he managed to get enough natural light during the day. Since it was nearing sunset, though, the bricks cast a reddish orange light into Zayn's apartment, so he turned on a few lights and lit two of the candles on the coffee table.

"You can sit, if you want," he told Harry, gesturing to the small kitchen to the left of the front door. Harry, politely, followed Zayn's example and took off his sneakers before padding over to the counter and placing his takeout box on the counter.

Zayn got them both drinks and they sat quietly as they ate dinner. Harry made a few noises of praise, even as he winced a bit from the heat and took generous gulps of water, and asked Zayn a few more questions about himself, but their main focus was on chewing and swallowing.

"So," Zayn began as he threw away both of their containers and Harry drained his second glass, "you're writing an album."

"Yep." Harry stood up and joined Zayn on the couch, leaning back comfortably and planting his feet on the floor.

"What're your plans for the cover?"

"No idea."

"What?"

"I've got, like, no clue. It feels like there are forty different vibes I could go for and I really have no idea what I want to do."

"Louis told me you wanted help designing it. I figured this would just be us getting on the same page about the art and then I'd make it and send it to you."

"I told Louis I needed help _thinking_ of a design. Like, brainstorming what the fuck it's gonna be."

Zayn sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Do you have a title? Is it gonna be named after a specific song or something else?"

"No. Dunno. Might just call it my name."

Zayn really had to fight back a groan.

"You're an artist, aren't you? I'm terrible at visual art. Well, 'cept photography. But I do, like, nature shots and candids. I'm not good at designing artistic photoshoots and, like, thinking of concepts and shit. Louis said you were really good at that, coming up with different looks and concepts and stuff. He talked really highly of your work, said you often direct shoots you model in."

Speaking of Louis, he was going to get a text from Zayn after Harry left about what the fuck _helping out with an album cover_ meant. Zayn thought this would mean getting to publish work, not giving Harry his ideas and then Harry leaving and doing it on his own. "Yeah, I do," Zayn settled on, instead of ranting about the gross overstepping on his generosity. "I can show you some, if you'd like. It's mostly focused on the clothes, though, so I'm not sure how helpful it'll be for an album cover."

"I mean, if you wouldn't mind showing me, I don't think it'll hurt to check them out."

"Let me grab my computer," Zayn resigned, heading over to his mattress where he flung his backpack the moment he walked in the door. "Shit. It's about to die."

"Oh, do you wanna plug it in?"

"Yeah, but my charger only reaches to the outlet by my bed. Come over," he explained, leaning to plug the charger into the wall.

After, Zayn dropped down on the bed, scooting to the side pressed against the wall so Harry could easily sit next to him. Harry did so, joining him casually after propping one of Zayn's pillows up behind his own back. He watched patiently as Zayn logged onto his computer and pulled up folders from specific shoots. Luckily, Zayn didn't have any porn left open.

Harry settled in easily, stretching his legs out beside Zayn. It seemed like the ability to acclimate immediately was Harry's secret superpower. He listened patiently as Zayn clicked through pictures and explained themes and ideas behind different shoots. He watched carefully, like he was searching critically for something he could use. Zayn respected his genuine interest but also his effort to gain something out of it. 

Zayn clicked to the end of one of his projects. "Think that's it. Anything speak to you?"

"I liked what you said about new beginnings," Harry said, eyes drawn together in concentration. It was an oddly focused look, one Zayn hadn't seen on Harry before as the boy was usually smiling and laughing to make others around him feel happy and welcome. Louis talked a lot about image when he was President. Harry's job was to represent his frat well, with bright white teeth and dimples and sparkling eyes that made you say 'yes' to a party invitation.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Your friend who designed that line? The one you said was a lot different than his previous stuff? That's kinda how I'm thinking about this record. I mean, it's not done yet, and I've only written a bit here and there before I started working on it, but it's a lot different than anything I've done before. I'm tryna, like, push myself a lot more, ya know?"

"Makes sense."

"So I liked the fact that you and him stripped it down to the basics. Like, the bare and honest and shit. The essence of what made the designs good."

Zayn opened a notes tab on his computer. "All right. So, 'bare.' That's a good word to start with. Do you want it abstract or literal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want an art piece that represents the idea of 'bare,' or do you want a picture of a naked person?"

"Oh. I mean, photography is the medium I'm most comfortable with. I was thinking of making it a photo. And, like, I don't really mind being naked. Clothes are dumb, anyway."

Zayn snorted. "Okay, first: my job is wearing clothes. Second: _you_ don't have to be the naked person on the cover."

"No, I meant- Like, fashion is really cool. It's a form of art. Dressing up can be super fucking fun. But, like, wearing clothes on a regular basis, like at home and shit, is annoying. I'd rather wear nothing around my house than have to put on clothes. 'S why I sleep naked."

"Good to know," Zayn teased.

"And to your other point, yeah. But, like, 'essence of the art,' ya know? It's mine, it's really personal. I wouldn't want the image of that music to be someone _else_ being vulnerable."

Zayn raised his eyebrows. "Fair point," he said, typing 'Harry, photographed nude,' next to his earlier notes.

"Can it be, like, implied, though? My mom's gonna see it, dunno if I want my ass on the cover," Harry interrupted, with a sly grin.

Zayn laughed. He replaced the last word with the phrase 'subtle/imply nudity. No ass or dick.' The specification wasn't professionally helpful in any way, but it was intended to get a chuckle out of Harry, and it worked.

"Thanks. You're really making me out to be super classy."

"What else? How do you want to be posed? Where are you, what does the set look like? What colors do you want to use? Or black and white?"

"Um," Harry hummed, pinching his lip between his teeth. "Dunno. Think I want it in color, though."

Zayn tried not to bitch. This was gonna be more of a pain than he thought. Harry'd been at his place for over an hour and he thought it'd be a twenty-minute meeting, at maximum. "Well, do you have any music I can hear? Hard to figure out how to represent it if I've never heard it."

"Right, yeah, of course," Harry replied, sitting up straighter. Zayn didn't know him well enough to tell if it was out of nerves or excitement. "So, I think I want it to have ten tracks. There are a few I'm still working on and some others I've finished but haven't recorded yet. I've got, like, rough demos of four of 'em on my phone."

Zayn nodded him on.

"But, like, I've finished writing the first track--at least, I'm pretty sure I want it to be the first track--and I haven't gotten to recording it yet. I feel like you should probably hear it first. Do you have a guitar? I was gonna bring mine but then I saw you after class and-"

"Yeah, in the closet," Zayn interrupted, pointing toward the correct door.

Harry flashed his dimples before hurrying over to the closet. While he rifled around in it, Zayn took out his phone and texted Louis a 'not fucking cool dude,' carefully shutting off his phone as Harry made his way back to the bed.

The guitar was embarrassingly out of tune, but Harry fixed that quickly. His fingers deftly picked over the strings for a moment, making sure everything sounded right, before he paused and turned back to Zayn. "It's called 'Meet Me in the Hallway."

Zayn relaxed back into his pillows as Harry began to play, the simple strums of an acoustic making him worry that he'd have to put up with some singer-songwriter type of bullshit. He could do it for paid work or publicity, but this clearly wasn't that. He should've guessed, anyway, what with Harry being President of a fucking fraternity. 

But then Harry opened his mouth, and _oh_. The reason why Louis insisted he help Harry made sense; Harry was incredibly talented.

It wasn't like his guitar playing skills or vocal technique were astonishing, but the emotion he could represent with a shitty acoustic and no warm-up, while he sat on Zayn's mattress on the floor in skinny jeans and a gray henley, was alluring. He dipped between soft, croaked lines that begged and bashfully admitted secrets, and louder, desperate insistences. He seemed to perfectly bounce along the words and, frankly, it was captivating to watch him play.

He wasn't performing a show, but he was performing, in some odd way. Zayn could appreciate his presence because of modeling; it was about the slight changes and positioning nobody noticed. Harry seemed to do the same thing with his energy that Zayn did with his body.

The song clearly wasn't in its fullest form, but it still left Zayn with a strong taste of _something_ in his mouth, and he wanted more. The song was eery, vaguely off-putting in an intentionally mysterious and tense way. When Harry strummed the last chord and opened his eyes, because it was weird to sing only to one other person and look at them the whole time, Zayn raised his eyebrows and grinned easily.

"Nice."

"Thanks, bro."

"It's not.. what I expected. Also not what I typically listen to, but I'd be totally down to listen to more if you have it."

"Yeah," Harry said, placing the guitar carefully on the floor and leaning the neck against the windowsill. "Like I said, I've got some demos and shit on my phone. It's still a bit rough, but they'll do."

"Sweet."

"You have a charger nearby? I'll plug my phone in and download it onto your computer so you can reference it if you need to and I'm not around."

"All right."

"Also, I kinda need to piss, so I'll set you up and then I don't have to awkwardly sit here while you listen," Harry added with a chuckle, as Zayn handed him a cord to plug his phone into Zayn's laptop with. Harry quickly navigated the two pieces of technology, once Zayn passed his laptop over, and four untitled tracks popped up in Zayn's iTunes under the name 'HS1.' "Sick, you should be all set," Harry said slowly, clicking around a bit more. "There. Just hit play," he instructed, plopping the computer back in Zayn's lap as he got up from his mattress again.

"Enjoy your piss," Zayn offered, as he hit play on the first track and the beginning piano notes of a ballad began to play.

"Thanks," Harry replied, sarcastically, his middle finger held up as he slipped into Zayn's bathroom.

By the end of the first song, Harry was back, anyway. Granted, the song was almost six minutes long. The next two were also kind of sad, the first heavily influenced by some kind of break-up, probably, and the second also seemingly about love. Both were acoustic, the first with nearly a country sound, and they were better written versions of what Zayn was expecting, at least genre wise. The last was the direct opposite of the ballad: quiet, soft, pitiful. Nothing was grand and big. Although it wasn't finished, Zayn had a feeling the final cut would also be quite stripped-down.

"I kind of wanna give you a hug after that last one," Zayn admitted, after the track ended. "Does it have a name?"

"'From the Dining Table,'" Harry replied automatically.

"Huh." The lyrics had no references to the title, so it must've been tied into the experience that cause Harry to write it. "Seems really personal."

"It is."

"Is the whole album gonna be this sad?" Zayn asked, a bit surprised at the bluntness of his question.

Harry laughed, shaking up their pensive and quiet mood. "No. I'm still finishing up a few tracks, but the happier ones are a bit more labor-intensive in terms of recording. I just need more time and more people in the studio than I've been able to get, but it'll happen soon."

Zayn turned back to his computer and opened up the note he'd been making earlier. Harry leaned in closer to see. "So. Now that you've shown it to someone, and listened to it again, what's the first color you think of?"

Harry squinted, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "Um-"

"No thinking."

"You just said-"

"I meant the first color that pops into your mind. What does it emulate? Go."

"Uh-"

"I said go."

"Pink."

"Pink?" Zayn asked, vaguely surprised by the frat President answering 'pink.'

"Yeah. Not, like, bright or saturated, but, like.. pale. Pale pink. Maybe a muted orange, too."

Zayn wrote down Harry's suggestions. "What about brown?"

"Um, sure, I guess."

"Your hair's brown. I'm trying to figure out if you'd rather just have skin, or your hair, too."

"Yeah, I think that'd be good. I don't want it to be about what my body looks like, I want it to be about me. But also.. not. Like, maybe have my tattoos show or something, something that's _me_ that I've chosen, but maybe not my face. I don't want me as a person to be the focus, I want me as in my experiences and preferences and choices and all the shit that went into the music to be on there."

"So, maybe we shoot your back," Zayn offered, noting Harry's suggestions. "Or have your hair hanging down, or something. We could also do a close shot, so you fill most of the frame, but at the same time it's not your face or _you_ , like you said. And we'll probably stay above-waist, for the moms."

"For the moms," Harry repeated, with a grin.

"Anything else? Anything you like to take pictures of, that you just enjoy visually?"

Harry shrugged. The motion made Zayn realize that, when Harry leaned in closer, he actually put his arm on the pillow behind Zayn's shoulders. "Water? It's a pain in the ass to get right, especially in motion, but it looks really cool when you do get it."

Zayn nodded and typed it into the note. He titled it 'Ideas for Harry's Shitty Album,' getting a quick, bright laugh from Harry, before exiting out of the tab. Closing his laptop, too, Zayn looked up at Harry. "Think we've got enough for now. I'm gonna put on a record so we can forget the horrible screeching you showed me," he teased.

Harry laughed again, but it was cut short as Zayn threw a leg over Harry's lap. Zayn had been sitting on the side pressed against the wall, so he had to scramble over Harry _somehow_ to get up. Or, he could've crawled off the end of it, but this was a more enjoyable, and significantly sexier, option.

The moment Zayn was straddling Harry's hips, up on his knees, Harry's hands found his hips. Respectfully, Harry didn't drag Zayn down onto him, although Zayn wasn't sure he'd mind. Instead, Harry held him securely as his other leg came around too and he stood up from the mattress. Zayn placed his computer on the nightstand next to Harry and approached the record player in between his mattress and the couch.

He bent over, purposefully giving Harry an eye-full of his ass, and ran his gaze over the records on the open shelf under the small table the record player sat on. He stood back up and looked at the vinyls hung carefully on the wall. One near the top caught his eye, but he'd hung it when he'd first moved in and always had a hard time reaching it unless he moved the whole table beneath it. He'd have to stretch up on his tippy toes and reach for it like a clumsy fool, which he didn't want to do in front of a Varsity athlete and frat President. He only needed a few more inches which, unfortunately, Harry did have over Zayn.

He pouted and turned back to Harry whose eyes, interestingly, were trained on Zayn. "I want _Sgt. Pepper_ but I can't reach it well."

"Are you asking me for help?"

"No."

"Fine, I'll help," Harry ribbed. He got off Zayn's mattress, stretching up from the relaxed slouch he'd been in for awhile. The hem of his henley rode up and Zayn got a peak of love handles, a toned v-line, and some dark ink. The shirt fell down before Zayn could read it properly.

"What tattoo is that?" Zayn asked, unashamed that he was staring.

Harry glanced up at him and grinned. He lifted his shirt for a moment, higher this time, to just above his belly button. "'Might as well...'" Harry quoted, as he dropped his shirt and walked toward Zayn who still stood in front of the record player.

"Cheeky," Zayn decided, about to move out of Harry's way.

Before he could, Harry's hand was firmly on his hip, holding him in place as Harry's broad chest pressed against his back. Harry reached up and carefully lifted the album out of the stand mounted to the wall. "Mhm," Harry hummed in agreement, into Zayn's ear. His arm came around Zayn's side to present the album to him, while still pressing up against him and caging him in.

Zayn, out of spite, ignored Harry plastered to his back and gripping his hips. Instead, he focused on sliding the album carefully out of its packaging, setting it into the record player, and carefully dropping the needle in place. Once the sound of an orchestra tuning filled Zayn's apartment, he turned in Harry's arms.

Harry's hands stayed on Zayn's hips as Zayn's arms wrapped around his neck. There wasn't much of another option with how close they were, pressed chest-to-chest. The difference height was more noticeable this close, as Zayn looked up into Harry's eyes.

"I wanna blow you," Harry admitted. "Can I?"

Zayn blinked. He searched Harry's face and, after either finding or not finding whatever he was looking for, answered. "Sure."

"Sick," Harry replied, a grin breaking out on his face.

He ducked in quickly to kiss Zayn first. Zayn was instantly grateful that Harry was a good kisser because if he wasn't, Zayn may have needed to change his answer. But Harry's lips were plump and firm against Zayn's. His tongue swiped nicely against Zayn's lip, so Zayn opened his mouth and let Harry explore. His tongue was.. talented, to say the least, so Zayn didn't mind when Harry guided him to the bed.

Harry tipped Zayn over the edge, pushing him lightly so Zayn willingly fell back onto the mattress. Grinning at Zayn again, Harry reached up behind his head, bunched the fabric of his henley in his hand, and then proceeded to pull his shirt off.

"You really need to undress for a blowie?" Zayn mused, watching Harry also shuck off his dark blue jeans.

"I told you I hate wearing clothes when I don't have to. Besides, it's not like you aren't grateful for the view," he answered, cockiness ironic but somewhat earned, judging by his strong thighs and tight abs. His bulge also looked sizable in his boxer-briefs.

"I guess I don't mind," Zayn sighed, feigning boredom.

Harry rolled his eyes, pouncing on Zayn the next moment. Zayn's acting broke when Harry laid on top of him, embarrassingly squealing in surprise. It was gleeful, luckily, so Harry just grinned and kissed him again.

After a few minutes of making out, Harry started to make his way down Zayn's neck, taking time to suck a purple spot under his jaw. "Fuck, you look so fucking hot underneath me," Harry said, tugging at the hem of Zayn's shirt so he'd slip it off. Zayn did so, but it was his turn to roll his eyes as he laid back down.

"You say that to all the girls you fuck?"

"Only the hot ones," Harry joked.

Zayn smirked and kissed him quickly again. He sank into his mattress and let Harry make his way back down Zayn's throat and chest. His tongue flicked over Zayn's nipples and traced a few of his tattoos, fingertips trailing lightly over his ribs.

"Please, fuck, c'mon," Zayn groaned, hips grinding up as Harry's lips popped off his right nipple.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, still grinning, a glint in his eyes.

"Yeah," Zayn said, flatly.

He pushed Harry's shoulders down. Usually, Zayn wouldn't dare, as it was an incredibly dickish move while trying to get head, but he did it just to play with Harry and between their banter and natural teasing dynamic, he didn't think Harry would really mind.

"Rude," Harry replied, once his face was level with the patch of skin above the waistline of Zayn's black jeans. Zayn could hear the smirk in his voice, though, and Harry pressed kisses to his lower stomach. "You have a condom?"

Zayn blinked down at him.

"Dude, I'm not putting my mouth on your cock without some kind of barrier. Unless you've gotten tested since your last sexual partner and have your results-"

"Yeah, no, that's fine," Zayn hurried out, interrupting Harry. He twisted and leaned over to his nightstand. "Just surprised you don't have one, Mr. President," he joked, trying to make that the focus, instead of his assumption that no frat bros practiced safe sex. Louis only did because a one-night-stand of his had to get an abortion. It was a whole ordeal last year and Zayn had given him a lot of shit.

Besides, Zayn wasn't going to turn down Harry because of protection. Sure, he preferred head without a condom--who didn't?--but it was still head. 

"Just, two quick rules. One, no saying 'dude' or 'bro' or 'buddy' when your hand is on my dick. Also, two, no quoting sex ed. textbooks," Zayn decided, tossing a condom from his drawer at Harry after checking the expiration date.

"Deal," Harry said.

He had popped Zayn's button open and unzipped his fly while Zayn was routing around in his drawer. Harry's hand was, in fact, down the front of Zayn's undone jeans and massaging his dick through his underwear. He pulled Zayn's cock from his underwear and jeans, Zayn lifting his hips so Harry could slide the clothing down a bit further and out of the way. Harry opened the condom and slid it carefully onto Zayn.

Before tossing the package to the side, Harry glanced down. "Ooo, cherry."

Zayn snorted, but a second later he was groaning as Harry's mouth wrapped around him. His suction was strong, creating a firm, wet heat around Zayn. He licked over the tip of Zayn's cock, twisting his large hand over the rest of it. He played around a little more, getting used to Zayn's particular shape and size, and his sensitivities, before sinking down further, gripping where Zayn's thighs met his hips for stability.

"Fuck, feels good," Zayn bit out, trying to prevent his hips from rocking up.

Harry just sank even further, humming around Zayn's cock as his nose reached the dark thatch of hair. A moment later, Zayn's entire cock was in Harry's mouth or down his throat. Zayn swallowed sharply as he looked down, watching Harry bob his head slowly, his lips stretched and pink and slick.

Lennon sang about kaleidoscope eyes and then a familiar chorus was playing for the third time. Zayn couldn't believe he was getting deepthroated to "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."

With a messy, wet sound, Harry pulled off briefly. "You can fuck my throat, if you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Go for it. I'll tap you twice if I need to come up."

"Okay."

Harry leaned back down, about to take Zayn again, before glancing up sheepishly. "Also, um, I'd kinda like it if, uh, if you'd pull my hair. Like, force my head down and shit, but keep a tight fist in my hair."

Zayn's head was swimming. "I can do that."

And then Harry was back on his cock, except the time Zayn's hand weren't wound around his sheets, they were buried in the back of Harry's hair. Zayn gripped the brown strands and Harry moaned, encouragingly, so he clenched his fist tighter. With a hold on Harry's head, Zayn slowly, at first, started pushing Harry down and pulling him up, on his cock.

As Zayn got more into it, he held Harry in place for longer and pushed his hips upward into his mouth. Zayn's head fell back, eyes falling closed, as he lost himself in the tight heat around him. Electric guitar strummed as the audio cracked through the record player's shitty speakers. The smell of sweat and sex mixed with fig and cedar from the burning candles.

"Fuck, think I'm gonna cum," Zayn moaned out, fucking into Harry's mouth quick and harsh.

Harry tapped his thigh and Zayn let up, concerned he did something wrong to make Harry want to come up. "Wanna cum on me?"

"Yeah, fuck, okay. Wanna cum on your stupid fucking butterfly," Zayn decided.

Harry laughed but plopped down next to Zayn, pulling him over and on top of himself. Zayn perched up on his knees, somewhat restricted by the jeans and underwear around the middle of his thighs. He stripped off the condom and tossed it lightly onto the floor next to his bed. The A side of the record finished, quieting the room so the pair could hear their panting breaths clearly.

Zayn moved his hand, in a tight fist, over the head of his cock, pulling and twisting the way he liked. It took only a few more moments to work himself up to where he was before Harry pulled off. "Shit. Close."

"Yeah? Look so fucking hot, all fucked out, baby. So much pretty skin, looks even prettier all bruised. Want you to cum, Zee," Harry urged.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, Haz-" Zayn choked out, as he came in a few spurts over the tattoo just below Harry's firm pecs.

Zayn worked himself through it, Harry's hands holding the back of his thighs and thumbs rubbing over his jeans. When he was done, Zayn pulled his pants back up, tucking himself in gingerly. With the fabric resting where it was supposed to, Zayn was no longer as restricted and could sit back comfortably on Harry's groin.

Harry's hands tightened around Zayn's hips as he sat directly on Harry's hard cock. "Fuck. Feel big, Haz," Zayn said, languidly.

Harry huffed. "Yeah. Lemme flip the record and then you can finish me off?"

Zayn nodded, but didn't move. Harry shook his head with a smile. He reached his arm off the edge of the mattress and grabbed the henley he'd flung onto the floor earlier. After using it to wipe Zayn's cum off his chest, Harry let it fall back to the floor. Then, he sat up, holding Zayn's hips in place as he turned and planted his feet on the ground. The next moment, Zayn found himself in the air, only supported by Harry, as the runner moved them over to the record player.

"Hold on," he instructed, patting Zayn's thighs.

Zayn's legs tightened around him, enough that Harry could let go of him. Peeking over Zayn's shoulder to see what he was doing, Harry's hands easily pulled the needle off, flipped the record, and replaced the needle. The five minute start to the B side of the album began to play.

Harry sat back on the bed, arms coming up around Zayn's torso to hug him close as Harry kissed him.

"That was kinda hot."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Not just the blowjob. Like, you being able to pick me up and shit."

"If you wanted to be manhandled, all you had to do was ask, babe," Harry teased.

"Ah, well, there's always next time," Zayn said, jokingly wistful.

"Next time can definitely be arranged," Harry replied, knowing what Zayn was fishing for.

"What time is it?" Zayn asked, changing the subject so he wouldn't get too giddy or dorky. Because, damn, was that good head.

Harry grabbed his phone off the bed and tapped the screen. "Just after 7:30."

"Mmkay. I vote I jack you off and then after we light up for awhile and maybe work on your album cover a bit more because everyone knows you have creative breakthroughs when you're high. Oh, wait, shit," Zayn realized, "you don't smoke, do you? I might have some edibles lying around somewhere. Unless, do you not, like, do weed?"

"Do I not do weed?"

"Shut up. You know what I mean," Zayn complained, hitting Harry's shoulder.

"It's fine. Weed, I mean. I just don't smoke cigarettes because of the addiction and all that. And fuck doing sports if it means I have to be straightedge."

"Honestly," Zayn laughed along. "Was why I figured I'd just never play one ever."

"Uh huh. Anyway, as long as I pace myself I should be fine with my asthma. I just, uh, I don't really smoke a ton because I get really sleepy. I may end up falling asleep, so, if you want to work on the album.."

"It's fine. If we do get work done, great. If not, whatever. I wouldn't mind a nap."

Harry grinned and pressed a kiss to Zayn's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it, I'd really appreciate kudos/comments! Thaaaankss <3
> 
> Hope you have a lovely day/evening/middle of the night you know you should sleep instead of reading fics.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: copious and detailed description of drug use. Mainly weed, psilocybin mushrooms, and alcohol. If this makes you uncomfortable, I honestly suggest not continuing this fic because it's all throughout this chapter and may be included in later ones as well. (Anwar is your friendly neighborhood shrooms dealer and Bella and Gigi are your friendly neighborhood party-throwers in this fic. Idk where I came up with either idea, but they stuck. Stan the Hadid siblings.)
> 
> No smut in this chapter. Soz.

It turned out, Harry really did get sleepy when he smoked. They talked about random shit and giggled while they smoked, but eventually Harry was leaning against Zayn like a lapdog and Zayn decided it was time to blow out the candles and take a nap. Not, however, before he remembered Harry's paper he had to work on, the one that made him want to come over earlier. Zayn, slightly panicked, pressed him about the assignment and Harry waved him off.

"I lied," he mumbled. "I wanted the possibility of spending more time with you because you seemed really cool. And Lou talks about you so much. And also I hate staying up late if I'm not partying. I get really tired and grouchy, but that seemed lame so I didn't want to say that."

"I wouldn't have minded," Zayn said, clicking off his bedside lamp and tugging his blanket pile over his shoulder. "'S fine. Just, next time, don't lie about it. I get weird about people lying. I like it when everything's straightforward and honest, no subtlety bullshit. Just say what you're feeling, ya know?" Zayn's eyes were already slipping shut from the warmth of Harry laying half on top of him. The weed was loosening his tongue and his tiredness slurred his words. "You're pretty good at it, though. Just said you wanted to blow me and there ya go. No circling around each other or awkward pining."

"What're you talking about?" Harry joked, barely conscious enough to keep up with Zayn. His lips were smushed into Zayn's shoulder, one of his arms thrown over Zayn's waist and a leg between Zayn's.

"Dunno," Zayn giggled, tracing the top of Harry's bare spine with his fingertips. "Let's just sleep."

"Mmm, sounds like a good idea," Harry hummed.

His breathing evened out a moment later and Zayn followed close behind. By the time they woke up a few hours later, it was past the hour Harry was initially supposed to come over.

Zayn closed the shade over his window so Harry could walk around his apartment naked, which they both seemed to prefer for him. Zayn slipped on a pair of sweatpants instead of his jeans, but stayed shirtless because his apartment was warm enough to do so despite the fall weather.

After packing up the finished record, Harry placed it back on the stand mounted to the wall while Zayn cracked open his fridge. Harry joined him, pressing against his back and wrapping his arms around Zayn's waist. They bickered lightly about what food to eat, but Harry's argument of reheating pasta won out so Zayn grabbed the Tupperware and closed the fridge. Harry smacked a kiss to his cheek, saying "thanks, babe," gloatingly, before stepping back and allowing Zayn to grab plates and put the pasta in the microwave.

Zayn finished heating it up and stood with Harry in the middle of the kitchen, half- and fully naked respectively, while eating. Harry got some sauce on his chin and Zayn smeared it to make it worse and they joked around with each other until their plates were empty. Then, Zayn got to watch a naked track star and frat president do his dishes for him. Zayn wasn't sure his life could get any better.

With some time on his hands until the party he was planning to go to, Zayn suggested they take another stab at planning the album cover shoot. Once he'd grabbed his laptop, Zayn was promptly pulled into Harry's lap on the couch. 

Jokingly, Harry suggested they shoot in Zayn's bathtub. Buzzed enough to miss the subtle sarcasm, Zayn genuinely agreed and added the idea to his note. Harry explained he was joking but Zayn shrugged him off. It was accessible, affordable, and was an excuse for Harry to strip in Zayn's apartment again. He really didn't mind.

They didn't get much further than that before Harry was drumming his finger's against Zayn's waist and seemed a little antsy. "You bored?" Zayn asked as he elaborated in his notes about ways to incorporate the pink color scheme.

"Kinda. You wanna watch a movie or something?"

Zayn was secretly very grateful Harry hadn't said he was thinking about heading out. "Sure," Zayn replied. His eyes glanced to the top corner of his computer screen and checked the time. "I do have to leave in a couple hours for the party, though, so we may have to cut it short."

"Shit, do you want to get ready for it? I've, like, been here for over five hours. I should leave."

Zayn shrugged. "I really don't mind." He was telling the truth. It was a rare statement for Zayn to make, not being irritated by someone overstaying their welcome. Even Louis got to be a bit much sometimes. But Harry was easy to be around and comfortable to cuddle with and gave really good head. His words were direct and he didn't waste Zayn's time, even as he took up a lot of it. "You can come with, if you want. Not sure if you'll like it. It's a really different crowd than your house."

"Yeah? Who's hosting?"

"My ex, Gigi, and her sister. Gigi and I work together a bunch, and we're still good friends, so she always invites me."

"Hadid, right? Her brother pledged last year."

"Yeah, he did. I always forget. I've modeled a bit with Anwar, too. Sweet dude."

"I'll text him, see if he's going. Either way, I'm down."

"Cool," Zayn said, leaning further back into Harry, who opened his phone to send the quick message.

Zayn pulled up Netflix and they clicked around for a bit, debating on what to watch before losing themselves in a heated conversation about their favorite films, even pulling up movie trailers to convince the other. By the time they realized they still hadn't picked a movie, they only had forty-five minutes left before the party anyway, so Zayn just closed his computer and peeled himself out of Harry's lap.

"You need to borrow anything?"

"Um, I can just wear my jeans, but I think my shirt's got cum on it. Your shit may be a bit small for me, though."

"I've got some looser ones over there," Zayn directed, pointing away from the dresser Harry was edging toward and to a section on his clothing rack. "Unless you're afraid of a blouse, Mr. President."

"Never," Harry said with a dramatic gasp. He held up a sheer black long-sleeve off the rack. "What do you think? Pretty enough for me?"

"Hardly, but nothing ever will be," Zayn teased. Harry rolled his eyes and playfully waved him off. "Might be a bit tight on you. Leave some of the buttons open so it fits over your chest."

"If I hear ripping I'll take it off," Harry promised, as Zayn winced at the idea.

Truthfully, his biceps probably stretched the material, but the shirt had been loose all around for Zayn. Maybe he'd just let Harry keep it after the party.

Zayn himself spent a bit longer digging around. Harry was sitting on the bed, attention turned toward his phone, as Zayn rifled through a few drawers for the perfect pair of black jeans (not to be confused with the other black jeans he was wearing earlier). The sound of metal scraping against metal rang through the room as he pushed hangers over to examine the clothes hanging from them.

Eventually, after about half of the rack, Zayn settled on a black long-sleeve with the words FEAR OF GOD written down the arms and across the chest. The collar and cuffs mimicked a varsity jacket with one bold stripe of white in the middle of the ribbed black material. Harry--by complete coincidence, obviously--happened to look up as Zayn tugged on his fuck-me jeans. They were probably women's, with how they clung to his thighs, but they made sure everyone with a sex drive wanted to fuck him.

Harry definitely took notice. "Damn, Zee," he said, eyebrows raised and eyes trained on Zayn's ass. "Like, holy fuck."

"Right?" Zayn looked over his shoulder and shot him a wink. Before Harry's raising arms could wrap around him, Zayn stepped out of reach. "I gotta finish getting ready. Come wait with me?"

Harry shrugged and Zayn nodded him over to the bathroom. While Zayn styled his hair, Harry sat on the closed lid of the toilet and continued to scroll through his phone. "Anwar said he's already there."

"Cool," Zayn replied, leaning closer to the mirror as he ran his hand through the front swoop of his hair. "I think it started a few hours ago. The earlier crowd is rowdier and some people show up just to pregame other parties. I usually go later because everyone's fucked out enough by then to offer you the good shit and you don't have to pretend to dance to loud music for two hours."

"So, what I'm hearing is we need to pregame before we leave," Harry said, a grin slipping onto his face.

Zayn rolled his eyes at Harry through the mirror. "I've got a handle of shitty vodka above the stove and there's orange juice in the fridge."

"Sweet." With that, Harry was out of the bathroom and digging around Zayn's kitchen.

Zayn turned his attention to the makeup pencil in his right hand. He dragged the top of his cheek down with a finger and carefully traced a line along his bottom eyelid, up to the corner of his eye. He repeated the action on the other eye, finishing just as Harry shouted "Found it!"

Harry popped back into the bathroom with two shot glasses and both bottles. Zayn carefully smudged the corner of the eyeliner and softened the harsh line with the pad of his finger. 

"Looks good," Harry complimented, as he passed Zayn a full shot glass. Zayn threw it back, cringed, and snapped his fingers for the orange juice. He drank straight for the bottle and passed it back to Harry as he took his own shot.

"Want some? I could do it for you," Zayn offered.

Harry paused for a moment, juice swishing around while he held the bottle still, and narrowed his eyes. "Umm," he hummed, thinking, "yeah. Sure. Why not, right?"

Zayn grinned. "Don't move," he said, stepping right up to Harry's front and raising his hands. "Look up," Zayn instructed, pulling Harry's lower eyelid down to trace it delicately.

Careful not to poke him, Zayn switched to Harry's other eye, breath puffing across Harry's cheek. Then, like he'd done to himself, Zayn's thumb brushed over the makeup to soften the edges and blur the corner. 

"There," Zayn said, looking back and forth to make sure the lines were even.

Before Zayn stepped back out of Harry's space, Harry's free arm came around his waist and drew him closer for a kiss. "You look really pretty when you're all focused."

Zayn kissed him again in response.

They managed to get down four shots each before Zayn started waving off the vodka. It burned going down and he knew his headache tomorrow would be horrible if he kept going. Harry put them back as Zayn grabbed his keys, wallet and phone. There was a muted plum satin jacket Zayn tugged on right before stuffing a few rolled joints and a lighter into the pockets.

The cross and Star of David pendants bounced against Harry's exposed chest, the blouse unbuttoned to his butterfly tattoo, as Harry tugged on a familiar denim jacket with a fuzzy wool lining. "It's Tommo's," Harry explained at Zayn's curious look.

Zayn turned off the light on their way out, locking the front door quickly before pocketing his keys and following Harry down the stairs. They popped out onto the street and Zayn guided them to the Hadid sisters' place.

Gigi and Bella's parents were famous or rich or some shit because the sisters had a house in the city, their combined rent paying for half of the building. The other side was either empty or the tenants had to be deaf since they'd never gotten a noise complaint during one of their parties. Sure enough, deep bass pulsated through the concrete sidewalks as Harry and Zayn neared the building. The door had been propped open with a brick and the inside was dark but random flashes of color reached the front hall.

The house was packed with a decent amount of people, all fucked out beyond belief. There were piles of people in corners of every room, couples edging closer to having sex the farther they made their way into the building. There was a short line for one of the bathrooms. People waiting leaned onto each other as they whispered through faded grins. The music was loud and heavy, the beat slightly too intricate to dance to.

Some people were swaying in time, but nobody was dancing--or, jumping up and down or grinding on each other like Harry was used to. Nearly everyone was in the middle of a conversation, a low but heavy thrum of voices instead of high-pitched shouts or loud yells. The discarded beer pong set-up was on a heavy wooden table instead of a plastic folding one, like the one Niall always arranged for the frat's parties. Most people were in tight black and bold, glittery jewelry. Zayn's chunky silver wrist band fit right in.

"There's a closet over here," Zayn instructed, guiding Harry over to a door off of the main room. They couldn't find free hangers and Harry was about to toss his jacket over the couch when Zayn slipped someone else's puffer onto the pile building on the floor of the closet. He shrugged off his own satin jacket before putting Harry's denim one on top of it on the same hanger and hung it back up. Zayn pushed his sleeves up to the edge of his elbow, the air warm from the past few hours despite the door being open the whole time.

"Drinks?" Harry asked, leaning close to Zayn to be heard.

Zayn nodded toward the kitchen. They were making their way to the other room when long, slender fingers winded their way around Zayn's wrist. Cold rings cut into his skin as Gigi tugged Zayn back. Harry, in front of him, glanced back to make sure he was okay before forging on. Zayn waved him off, knowing he'd catch up with him later.

Sure enough, when Zayn turned around, Gigi's mouth was hanging open as her eyes trailed after Harry. "Is that- Holy fuck, is that Harry Styles?" she asked, shocked disbelief woven into her slurred words.

"Yeah," Zayn breathed.

"I knew he was hot, but.. damn. Nice job, Malik."

"Thanks," he said, a sly grin slipping onto his face.

"No need to be cocky about it."

"You know where Anwar is?" Zayn asked, changing the topic before defending the fact that he absolutely deserved to be cocky about it. "I think Harry wouldn't mind a familiar face. Dunno if this is his scene."

"Pretty sure he's upstairs. He's also got shrooms if you're looking."

"Yeah, thanks."

Gigi's hand slipped from his wrist as she drifted off to greet another person, waving goodbye at Zayn as she went.

Zayn spotted Harry easily in the kitchen, despite the sea of people. He was wearing Zayn's shirt, after all, and his pushed back hair and thick muscles stood out in the crowd of lithe models. Some looked vaguely sickly, skin stretched over pointed joints. The far-off looks on their faces and red eyes didn't help much.

Harry hadn't seen Zayn yet, though, when Zayn's phone buzzed in his back pocket.

_you wouldn't have done it if i'd told u, asshole. suck it the fuck up. he deserves it._

Zayn cringed at Louis's response to his earlier, probably too harsh, message about the album cover. Granted, Louis had lied--or exaggerated the truth--and he knew how much Zayn hated when people lied. However, Zayn's frustration had quickly ebbed once he heard Harry's music, and gotten head, and smoked some weed. Louis's answer did more to make him feel guilty than fire up his desire to argue with his best friend.

 _we worked some shit out. just dont do it_ _again,_ Zayn sent.

 _ur right. my_ _bad_ , _bro,_ Louis placated right back.

Zayn pocketed his phone and finally approached Harry, making himself known by sliding an arm around his waist. "Cook up anything good?"

"I'll have you know I'm an excellent chef. But, no, I was about to start pounding tequila shots."

Wrinkling his nose, Zayn laughed. "This isn't a frat, _dude_. The Hadid's are, like, stupid fucking rich. Steal their nice whiskey."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and Zayn laughed again. After Zayn pointed him to the right shelf, Harry brought the bottle down carefully. They passed it between themselves as they walked into the next room: another lounge area.

"Zaynie!" A higher voice squealed as they walked in.

The younger Hadid sister was matching the unofficial black-clothing theme in a tube top, braless, with tight leather pants. She clutched her phone in her hand as she threw her arms around Zayn's neck. As his nose tucked into her neck, Zayn could smell flowery perfume under sweat, smoke, and vodka nicer than his own. Bella had a bright smile on her happy face as they pulled apart.

"The party really hasn't started 'til you show up. Always arriving fashionably late," she teased, swatting his shoulder. "I'm glad you did come, was starting to worry you wouldn't. Gigi always reminds me how much you hate parties."

"Nah, I love anything you two put together," Zayn promised honestly. "Would never bail without a text, at least. It was just this one making me late," Zayn explained as Harry pressed against his back, arms winding around his waist. His chin rested on Zayn's shoulder and he grinned, a little guilty, at Bella.

It was the truth, after all. Harry's incessant pawing at Zayn's ass after the first two shots made it a little harder to finish getting ready. They'd left the house about twenty minutes later than Zayn had planned, which was already nearly half an hour after when he usually showed up, still late, to the Hadids' parties. His classes had left him tired and Zayn was hoping to pop by quickly, score some free booze, and dip early. Harry had somewhat disrupted his plans.

"Sorry," he hummed out in his deep voice.

"No worries, babe," Bella replied. "I'm glad you came along. New faces are always welcome at ours."

"Anwar talks about your parties a lot, usually when he's bored at the frat. Think some of the other boys get annoyed by it, but I've always been intrigued."

Bella positively beamed at that. "Well, I won't hold you, then. Feel free to look around! Zee, Megan's upstairs if you want some fresh ink. She brought her needles and shit."

"Good to know. Thanks, Bel," Zayn answered, smiling warmly at her.

"Thanks for the welcome," Harry called out, too, as Bella got tugged in another direction by one of her friends.

Zayn and Harry pulled apart, heading back to the main room and up the grand wooden staircase. They passed someone shaving someone else's undercut in the bathroom at the top of the stairs. There were a few other open doors along the hallway, mostly filled with people smoking and talking softly, or cuddling close and kissing lazily. The music was still audible but muffled on the second floor. The end of the hallway opened to a larger space filled with more bodies. Distinct buzzing sounded in one corner and Zayn itched to head toward it as Harry led them to the opposite side of the room.

"Hey, bro," Harry greeted as Anwar came into view. He was slouched on a beanbag, surrounded on all sides by other people. Some were sitting up but most were lying down, either on top of each other or just on the floor. A small plastic bag with dried mushrooms, brown at the tip with white stalks, laid by his hip. 

"Yo, you came," Anwar pointed out, dapping Harry up in greeting from where he sat. He looked well on his way through a trip by the distant look in his eyes. His eyebrows still raised as he took Harry's appearance in. "Zee, good to see you, man."

"You too," Zayn replied casually, leaning down to grab the bag from beside Anwar while Harry sat down on the floor with his back against the wall. He pulled out a couple and checked their weight on the digital scale laying on the floor in front of Anwar. They measured out to just below a couple grams, which seemed to satisfy Zayn, what with his tolerance and intention of staying semi-lucid through the night. He popped them into his mouth and winced at the taste. Zayn motioned for Anwar's water bottle but he held it close to himself instead of handing it over.

"I made tea, bro."

Zayn rolled his eyes and flipped him off, someone else passing him a plastic cup with more Coke than rum in it.

"You've done shrooms before?" Harry asked, curious but lacking judgement in his tone.

Anwar answered for Zayn. "He's the reason I started bringing them to these parties. He'd always nag 'til I let him buy off me. Which, you owe me." Zayn flipped him off again. "You ever try them?" Answar asked Harry.

"Nah."

"You want to? First trip's free for friends."

Harry looked to Zayn. Zayn shrugged. "It's fine if you don't want to. His shit's good, though. And I promise it's safe."

"I'll try it, as long as you don't ditch me."

"One of us will stay close by," Anwar promised. "I'm sure as hell not moving 'til tomorrow. And this is Gigi and Bella's place. They'll be around if you need anything. They're, like, super sweet. I swear. You can always crash here if you need to."

Zayn asked Anwar about the concentration of his tea, checked the size of the bottle, and told Harry how much to drink. As Harry drank, Zayn sat next to him and explained that his high would likely hit before Zayn's own. Harry got down to the end of his serving, Zayn keeping a close eye to make sure he didn't accidentally take too much his first time around. 

When the bottle was passed back to Anwar for safe keeping, Zayn broke out the joints he'd brought. Anwar cheered so Zayn threw him one, considering it payment for the shrooms even if it wasn't really. Anwar was fucked; he may not remember anyway.

"You want some? It helps with the anxiety, 'specially the first time around. Tried to make sure you didn't get too much, but everyone's different. They can be kind of overwhelming the first time."

"Only if we shotgun," Harry responded, a cheeky grin appearing at Zayn's lack of amusement.

Zayn complied anyway, fishing out a lighter to burn the end of the joint. He inhaled sharply, taking a long drag, before turning to Harry and beckoning him closer. By the third or fourth hit, Harry pulled him in for a tongue-heavy kiss. Zayn tried not to groan, out of annoyance of their audience or out of pleasure, but kissed back.

After, Harry slumped against the wall and stared at him for a bit. Zayn was willing to bet he'd begun to felt it when Harry opened his mouth again. "Your skin is, like, _breathing_."

Zayn laughed and patted his thigh. "You're officially tripping."

Harry stared down at his hands, opening and closing his fists a few time before letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. The muffled music from downstairs was beginning to swim a bit in Zayn's ears. The bright orange and pink hair of the tattoo artist in the corner caught his eye, vibrant and focused in a vague mess of other people. It seemed to radiate, casting a pink glow on the air around her. "Think I'm gonna go get a tat."

"You said you wouldn't leave," Harry said, head snapping down to look at him.

Zayn kissed Harry softly, partially to calm him and partially because Zayn wanted to. "'M not. She's on the other side of the room. You can shout if you need anything, but Anwar's right here. I'll be back in a bit, okay?" Zayn planned to wait if Harry was uncomfortable, but Harry nodded and his head fell back to stare upward again.

Standing made Zayn's head swirl, but the shitty vodka, weed, and general lack of water probably had more to do with that than the shrooms. Zayn's arms swung easily at his sides as he moved toward the tattoo artist, Megan, and the lounge chair she was working from. He absentmindedly wondered what modeling on shrooms would be like. He'd have to ask Anwar, if he remembered. If anyone had tried it, it'd be Anwar.

The tattoo artist had done some of Zayn's tattoos and she occasionally popped by Gigi and Bella's parties, so Zayn knew her well. He greeted her warmly with a hug, chatting for a bit about classes and work. The latter turned them onto the topic of Zayn's new tattoo.

He quickly explained the design, the acronym V.V. above a date coming up in a few weeks, and Megan started drawing it onto his left forearm with a marker.

"Versace, eh? Pretty sure this entire room would kill you for that gig."

Zayn blushed. "I'm not supposed to say anything 'til they announce it. You're the only one aside from Gigi who knows. She helped me get it. She's, like, personal friends with Donatella. Fuckin' crazy."

"It's wild when people you know are famous, isn't it?"

"I always forget. She was real good about it when we were together; always kept me apart from it. Ultimately, her career was important to her and I was trying to work while in school.. we just didn't have enough time."

"Don't think she's slowed down, either," Megan added. "That look good?" 

"Yeah," he answered, looking down at his arm. It was dark and he couldn't make out the purple ink very well against his tan skin and litany of other tattoos, but he trusted her. From what he could see, at least, it seemed to be what he wanted.

Megan disinfected his skin again and balanced the side of her palm against his arm, the tattoo machine in her hand.

Zayn didn't resent Gigi for breaking up with him. She did it cleanly and earlier enough that they could still be friends after. And they were. It sucked, and it hurt like hell, and Louis drank with him for a few weeks, but it was the right decision. Gigi really was too busy building an international modeling career. She and Bella, and now Anwar, were basically celebrities on their own because of their family name and their work. She didn't have time or space for Zayn and Zayn didn't like to be pushed to the side and strung along.

They knew it wouldn't work out until they were both in more stable places in their careers. Maybe, eventually, they'd end up together again, but Zayn knew once she entered his life she'd never fully leave it. Zayn definitely still loved her, but he was no longer in love with her. He was content to just be friends. And buy shrooms off her brother.

"Can't believe you booked that gig with this many tats," Megan said, pulling Zayn out of his reverie.

Zayn went to shrug, but remembered the needle currently piercing his skin. "Sometimes they book the gig for me, other times it's an instant 'no.' Once I was offered the job, but only if I sat through makeup to cover 'em. I figured out pretty much immediately after getting the offer that I didn't want to do work if they turned away tatted models. Otherwise the fashion is, like, inaccessible and elitist anyway. And don't even get me started on the amount of whitewashing. I had to call my agent once after I got edits back, it was that bad."

Megan snorted. "Honestly. If you want white models, just fuckin' say that. Own up to your racism."

"Sometimes I can't believe I still model," Zayn laughed. 

"But then you're out doing a shoot for _Versace_ ," she hissed out the last word in a whisper before raising her volume again, "and suddenly it all seems worth it."

"Yeah. Still kinda feels like a fever dream. Guess it's why I wanted it tatted."

"Just hope it drops on schedule," Megan joked.

"Eh, if it doesn't, at least I'll have a sick story."

Megan laughed along and finished up the last few lines of the tattoo. Somebody offered a phone flashlight to make sure everything looked right and she neatened the dots of the acronym.

Once it was done, Megan cleaned it again and wrapped it, not bothering to give Zayn the aftercare speech. The number of tattoos he had, probably too many for his limited budget and the fact that he'd only been legal for four years, did nothing if not explain that he knew how to take care of fresh tattoos.

Zayn thanked the tattoo artist and moved to take his wallet out. Megan waved him off, claiming it was a 'congratulations on the career break' gift. Zayn thanked her again, giving her one last hug before meandering back to the corner Anwar and his posse were occupying.

They were in some deep conversation, Harry still squinting up at the ceiling as existential words tumbled out from his loose lips. Zayn plopped down next to him, right arm thrown over Harry's shoulder. Zayn was feeling the late hour and the weed in his system, despite the way the shrooms made him silly.

It turned out, Harry had his giggly phase while Zayn was getting his tattoo. Anwar mentioned it and Harry already started to crack up a little, so Zayn squeezed him in close and smiled.

Somebody had started playing music from their phone speaker, unfamiliar but welcomed. However, with the way Zayn could pick out the patterns in the music so clearly, they clashed somewhat with the sounds from downstairs. Mixed with the way the room, visually, was pulsing, Zayn's head started to ache with overstimulation, so he closed his eyes and leaned his head on Harry's shoulder.

Following Harry's breathing was easy. Zayn's head rose as Harry inhaled and fell as he exhaled. The world melted away for a little while as Zayn watched colors flashing through his eyelids dance. 

When someone passed Zayn a water bottle, it felt like more time had passed than he could account for. Opening his eyes fully, Zayn stretched out his back. His fingers, lips, and lungs all itched for a cigarette.

He fished the carton out of his pocket and packed it by hitting it against the bottom of his palm.

"You gonna smoke?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. You want one?"

"I don't smoke," Harry reminded, shaking his head. "You should go outside if you are."

"Oh, nobody cares. We lit up earlier."

"I care, Zee. My asthma, remember? C'mon, I'll go with you."

Zayn shrugged but stood up nonetheless. He offered Harry a hand and helped pull him up, trying not to resent how much energy he had to use. They trotted down the hall and back downstairs in comfortable silence, Zayn guiding their way through the house as he knew it much better than Harry did.

The backyard was small, as they were in a city, but it wasn't very full. The alcohol, drugs, people, and music were all inside, so most guests didn't want to come out. Zayn leaned against the wall, staring up at the clouded dark sky as he lit the end of a cigarette and took a drag.

"How're you feeling?"

"Like I'm fucking flying," Harry giggled out.

Zayn smiled. "Good. Nothing bad?"

"Nah. Think you were right about the weed. Helped slow everything down and not become too much. Made me a bit sleepy when I probably would've been bouncing off the walls."

"You tired?" Zayn asked, breathing out smoke.

"A bit," Harry repeated.

"You wanna head home?"

Harry blushed. "I kind of have no idea where we are. Not sure if I could get back on my own."

Thinking for a moment, Zayn realized they had steadily moved farther and farther from Harry's fraternity house during the night. He didn't really want to walk Harry all the way back to the frat, just to turn around and have to walk home himself. "You can stay at mine."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I've known you for, like, less than twelve hours."

"I've known you for two years, Harry," Zayn replied, rolling his eyes.

"No, you've known Louis's Brother, while religiously avoiding our frat, for two years."

Zayn thought he may have had a good point. "Either way, you can still stay at mine. We can head out, if you want?"

"I mean, I don't want to make you leave this early."

Zayn tapped the screen of his phone. "It's 5:30."

"Shit. My phone died and I- I really do not know where the past four hours went."

"Me neither."

Harry giggled. "Like, not like I'm blacked out, just.."

"Didn't realize time would continue to move?" Zayn filled in.

Harry giggled again. "Yeah. That."

"C'mon. We've already been here way longer than I thought. Let's head out."

Zayn finished his cigarette and stamped it out on the patio. Gigi caught them on their way back upstairs to grab Harry's things and say goodbye. She checked Zayn was cognizant to find his way home, and he promised to call if he had any problems, before she hugged them both.

After grabbing Harry's wallet and useless phone, the pair made their way back to the closet, only because Zayn reminded Harry who was already heading toward the now-closed front door. Zayn was quick to locate their jackets as the closet had cleared out significantly. Bella, it sounded, was already asleep, so they waved goodbye to Gigi again from the doorway.

Harry linked his fingers with Zayn's effortlessly as they walked.

It was hard for Zayn to figure out how to interact with someone he'd hooked up with but was barely-kind-of friends with aside from that. He appreciated Harry making it simple for him. Truth be told, it seemed like they were both fairly physically affectionate people, Harry especially. Zayn felt weird when people immediately pretended like hook ups didn't happen and shrugged off his touches. He typically stressed his personal space with people he wasn't particularly close with, but you were exempt the minute you'd touched his dick.

Harry didn't seem to be proclaiming to everyone that they'd fucked, nor was he trying to push Zayn to label them. It wasn't like Zayn was instantly in a relationship with someone if he held hands with them. Sometimes, he casually held hands with the best friend of a best friend, who'd given him a blowjob after the first real conversation they'd had in two years, while he guided them home as they tripped on magic mushrooms. No biggie.

* * *

Zayn's mouth was _dry_ and his head _hurt_ and he fucking needed nicotine _now_.

In his effort to roll over toward his nightstand, he was blocked by a very large, very warm object.

"I'm gonna go smoke out the bathroom window and try not to die of dehydration," Zayn groaned out, clambering ungracefully over Harry's (no longer) sleeping form.

Harry hummed, voice low and crackling. "Hungover?" he asked to Zayn's back. The model was currently rooting around in the pockets of his jeans from last night for his cigarette carton.

"Fuck off."

"You may have a tolerance to shrooms and weed, but I'll still out-drink you any night."

"Fuck off."

"You already said that."

"I meant it. Why is your morning voice so hot?"

"Go smoke."

Zayn flipped him off but did as he was told. He nearly ran to the bathroom, wearing only underwear and his hair lumped to one side. Harry, true to his word, has slept naked, but wasn't looking much better than Zayn. The sound of the faucet squeaked as Zayn filled up a cup multiple times and chugged the water down.

After about ten minutes, Zayn came back into the main room. He thumped to the kitchen and dumped a couple cigarette butts into the trash. Pouting the whole way back, Zayn's ungainly walk earned him Harry's open arms to fall into. He was warm and solid and Zayn really hadn't slept next to someone the whole night, besides Louis, since he and Gigi broke up.

"Time's it?" Zayn grumbled out, face pressed to Harry's bare chest.

"Dunno. My phone's dead."

"Check mine."

"Yours is too."

"Fuck."

"Sorry."

"'S fine," Zayn said, eyes closing again. "Must've forgotten to plug it back in."

He'd drained the majority of his battery last night, streaming music videos for Harry. The images and colors swirled while the music effortlessly accentuated the cuts in the video. Harry told Zayn he wanted to write music the next time he tripped.

Zayn's high started to end about a couple hours before Harry's, and wasn't as intense, but Harry was still tripping by 7 a.m. when Zayn had decided he'd have to sleep through the rest of it because Zayn couldn't keep his eyes open.

They must not have slept for long enough, though, because Zayn was already starting to drift off again.

"You asleep?" Zayn asked, barely conscious but vaguely remembering he was hosting.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled.

They both fell asleep immediately after, Zayn's body relaxing a split second before Harry's.

When Zayn woke up again, Harry was still asleep. A little more aware of his surroundings--without his body screaming at him--and wanting to be more polite, Zayn carefully detached himself from Harry and got out of bed. He remembered the eggs in his fridge and decided to make food because if he ate he'd either stop feeling nauseous, or he'd throw up and then stop feeling nauseous.

The toaster had just popped up when Harry spoke. "G'morning."

Zayn glanced back at him, watching as Harry stretched and cracked his back before getting out of bed. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," Harry hummed. "You're very comfy," he complimented, hugging Zayn from behind. "Eggs?"

"That okay?"

"More than. Thanks." Harry punctuated his appreciation with a quick kiss. "Oh, shit, morning breath."

"Eat first, but I think I've got a spare toothbrush in the drawer under the sink."

Harry dramatically praised Zayn's fluffy eggs, as well as his use of hot sauce on them, and the 'perfectly buttered' toast. Zayn rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. 

He did end up having a spare and they brushed their teeth together. Their elbows bumped and Harry made funny faces through the mirror at Zayn, who tried but failed to ignore them.

Zayn denied Harry's request for him to put the jeans from last night back on just so Harry could peel them off himself. However, he did climb into Harry's lap after plugging his phone in beside the bed.

They were a good few minutes into licking the taste of mint from each other's mouths when Zayn's phone buzzed loudly. Harry tensed momentarily, but relaxed as Zayn continued to kiss him. Harry's hands squeezed the sides of Zayn's thighs when the phone buzzed again. Zayn pulled back and huffed, not removing his arms from where they were linked behind Harry's neck as he leaned to check his phone screen.

It was only a couple texts from Louis. He moved to return to his objective of giving Harry beard burn, when another text came in. And another. And a receipt for a voicemail.

Zayn frowned. "Sorry. Hang on," he told Harry as he grabbed his phone, careful to keep it plugged in.

"Take your time," Harry said, with humor.

Zayn flipped him off good-naturedly and checked his text conversation with Louis.

10:27 a.m. - _harry with u? he didnt come home last night_

12:42 p.m. - _not fucking around, z. nobody's heard from him for 24 hours_

3:51 p.m. - _even if hes not, could u text me back? kinda starting to worry_

3:53 p.m. - _he like totally doesnt do this. if he isnt with u then do u know what he did after he left??_

3:53 p.m. - _zayn pick up_

3:54 p.m. - _anwar just got back and said h did shrooms and then left with u_

3:55 p.m. - _pick the fuck up_

4:01 p.m. - _payno hasnt heard from him since he left at 10am YESTERDAY for fuckin class. can u please call me?? im freaking out_

4:12 p.m. - _i_ _m giving you five minutes to call me back before i go to ur place and pick the lock im not fucking kidding_

The last message was sent four minutes ago. Zayn cursed and hurried to press Louis's contact and call him on speaker.

_"Zayn, where the fuck-"_

"He's here. He's here with me. We're okay. We're both safe, I promise." He nudged Harry.

"Yeah, Tommo, it's me. I'm fine. What's going on? You okay?"

Louis breathed loudly over the line. _"I'm fucking great, Styles. I was just losing my shit over you. Nobody's fuckin' seen you for like a day and a half."_

"He was with me the whole time, Louis. Get off his case."

_"Well, I'm glad you two made such fast friends that you spent nearly an entire day together, but Harry's the fucking president and told absolutely no one where he was."_

"I'm sorry, that was my fault, I should've-"

"No, it's totally not that big of a fucking deal, Harry. It's not like Louis never went on benders."

_"Not last year."_

"Well, he didn't fucking knock up some chick, if we're considering what you _did_ do as president," Zayn shot back.

_"Low fucking blow, Malik."_

It was. Louis took the whole thing very seriously and was ready to drop out and raise a kid with a girl he'd met once if she decided to keep it. He wasn't about to be his own father. She'd ultimately decided to abort it, which was a relief, but wasn't exactly easy for Louis either. Family was the most important thing to him and it was the closest he'd come to starting his own. Part of the reason he was so good as the president, and part of the reason he was freaking out over Harry, was his role as doting older brother to six younger siblings.

"It's not like it isn't true-"

"Zayn," Harry cut in sternly. "It was my fault for not texting, Lou. My phone died and I didn't think. Was Liam worried about the meeting tonight?"

 _"Yeah. You gonna be here in time? You've got a couple hours,"_ Louis said, sounding worlds less panicked since he'd heard from Harry. He was mostly just annoyed, now.

"Yeah, 'course. Wouldn't miss a council meeting. I'll bring beer to make up for today."

_"Probably a good idea. And it's not- It's not like you aren't allowed to have a life or hang out with other people, Haz. Just, text or call next time, yeah?"_

"Totally. I'm really sorry it happened."

" _People fuck up sometimes. Shit happens."_

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna get him out the door and I'll call you back, all right?" Zayn asked. He knew Louis didn't feel right tearing Harry apart, but he definitely needed to chew somebody out. Zayn was a good enough friend to take the fall. Louis'd done it for him plenty of times.

 _"Sure. Talk to you then_ _."_

"Bye, Louis," Harry called out.

Zayn ended the call and glanced up at Harry, who gave him an apologetic smile. Quietly climbing out of Harry's lap, Zayn felt a tension that hadn't been there before permeate the air.

He found a pair of sweatpants quickly in the pile of clothes on the floor by his mattress, oddly wanting to cover up. When Zayn turned, he found Harry zipping up his jeans and an awkward expression on his face.

"You wanna borrow a sweatshirt? It's cold out."

"That'd be great. Thanks," Harry said, face instantly flooding with relief.

The school sweatshirt a family member had bought Zayn in the wrong size when he first got into college was still folded at the bottom of one of his drawers. It hadn't been touched since he moved in, but Harry slipped it over his bare torso and it seemed to fit well.

Zayn made a comment about keeping Harry's henley as collateral, but the joke fell flat. He explained he'd wash it and get it back to Harry after, not wanting to make him ball up the dirty shirt at the bottom of his bag. Harry shrugged and thanked him again, before moving to gather up his things.

Waiting by the kitchen counter, Zayn noticed how different his apartment looked in the daylight. The clothes flung over the couch and mugs cluttered on the table didn't seem to make the apartment homey or feel lived-in, instead just adding to the mess Zayn hadn't cleaned up before Harry came. The vinyls on the wall slumped tiredly in their stands and the easel in the corner stood abandoned.

Without the secrecy of the nighttime and the warm glow of his lamps casting shadows, Zayn couldn't help but think his apartment looked lonely. Despite the art he crammed onto every surface and the small space he took up with every ounce of his being, his chest felt heavy as Harry silently prepared to leave. A sense of isolation flooded Zayn's veins, only heightened by the knowledge they both suddenly felt uncomfortable in the presence of the other.

Fixing the straps of his book bag on his shoulder, Harry nodded toward the front door. Zayn crossed the room to politely meet him before the short hallway and walk him to the end of it. 

Just as they reached the exit, Harry turned in the doorway. His eyes searched Zayn's face and he looked like he wanted to say something.

Zayn, unable to tolerate silent implications, bit out a harsh "What?"

Harry glanced away and Zayn's expression softened. "I-" he wormed out before cutting himself off with a sigh. Harry looked up again. "I know you prefer it when people just say what they're feeling, so I- I feel like I owe you that. This is kind of really awkward but I don't think I'm gonna be comfortable with the way we're about to leave things if I don't at least ask to kiss you goodbye. It's just, with Louis and everything, it feels-"

"You can kiss me," Zayn interrupted, without thinking. "You can kiss me," he said again, surer the second time.

Harry smiled softly and then Zayn could feel that smile against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *AHEM* Yes this is heavily inspired by the Still Got Time music video in terms of style and some of the vibe. It's a bit different, but if you haven't watched the video please do bc it's probably my favorite of Zayn's. Also, 2013 Harry in 2015 Harry's blouses? This has been fun, that all imma say.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you liked this chapter!
> 
> P.S. if you have anything you wanna see in the next few chapters, feel free to let me know! I'm still working on them and would be happy to include things that go well with the story.  
> P.P.S. someone teach me how to write chapter summaries. and how to write without ridiculous amounts of dialogue, lmao.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: smut, use of the word 'slut' and choking kink! 
> 
> This is to make up for last chapter, hehe.

Louis spent exactly seventeen minutes tearing Zayn a new asshole before he subtly mentioned that he got a failing grade on a paper worth 40% of his grade. After that, he slowly transitioned into venting about his dickhead of a professor while Zayn agreed and tried to suggest solutions. It wasn't long before Louis started digging into what happened with Zayn and Harry the night before.

"A gentlemen never kisses and tells."

 _"So you did kiss him,"_ Louis responded through the phone, grin evident in his tone.

Zayn rolled his eyes fondly. "And maybe a bit more."

_"Did he suck your dick?"_

"Lou."

_"Did he?"_

"I just said-"

_"Yeah, but did he?"_

"..Yes."

_"Was it good?"_

"I'm not-"

"I've heard he's got good head game."

"..It's fucking amazing I've genuinely never gotten a blowie that good. I wanna, like, thank his mother," Zayn eventually gushed.

Louis complained about needing to get laid and Zayn pointed out that he had a very serious girlfriend who simply didn't sleep with him because he was a horrible lay. Obviously, Louis resented that statement, but he hung up soon after, probably to beg his girlfriend for nudes. Zayn loved his best friend, but Eleanor really deserved better.

And Zayn told her as much the next time he saw her. She had gone with Louis, and most of his frat brothers who were free, to a cross country meet on their campus. Harry was racing that Saturday night, as he'd casually mentioned to Zayn as they headed out of the library two nights ago. They'd been studying together, which would have been odd for them a few weeks ago but happened multiple times a week now. With or without Louis.

When Harry mentioned the meet, Zayn had wished him good luck. Harry's implicative look didn't budge from his face. After Zayn raised an eyebrow, Harry remembered the key rule with Zayn and admitted that he'd like it if Zayn came to support him. Just to tease him a bit, Zayn shrugged and offhandedly said he may be busy. When Harry's face fell, he laughed and promised he'd go.

The smile on Harry's face was worth sitting in 40 degree weather surrounded by frat bros. It also must've made up for the fact that most of the 10km trail was out of view of the group. Most of the guys were there to support Harry and their other Brothers on the team, but they all went to so many races and sports games that they stopped bothering to follow along the trail the whole time. They chose to stay by the start and finish lines, so Zayn didn't even get to watch Harry for a large portion of the race. It did give him plenty of time to flatter Eleanor, though.

Louis took notice and kept elbowing Zayn for trying to convince his girlfriend to leave him. Zayn was pretty sure Louis took time out of his day to sharpen his elbows, but Zayn remained vigilant if only for the fact that Louis made Zayn sit with his fraternity. 

"I fucking hate sports," Zayn whined, not for the first time, as his phone told him the last time he'd seen Harry was twenty-five minutes ago.

"That's because you smoke so much that you can't run without collapsing," Louis replied, one arm around Eleanor's shoulder. A cigarette bobbed between his lips as he spoke. Zayn looked at him pointedly. "What? My lungs are so fucking strong that I can poison them and still be Captain."

"Right. The nicotine just stunted your growth."

Louis glared at him and held up his middle finger. Liam thwacked him on the back of the head and shot Zayn a stupid grin. "C'mon, this isn't that bad. And you've been to Tommo's games. You should come to the football one next weekend. Niall and I are starting."

"Absolutely not," Zayn responded, without missing a beat. Liam's smile slipped slightly. He gave up on trying to appease Zayn--a hopeless task, really--and turned back to his friends.

It only took a few more minutes for Harry to reappear down the track, coming out from the trails that loop through the forest. There were some athletes in front of him, but they were ones who had started ahead as well, so Zayn had hope. 

He and the frat cheered loudly as Harry ran down the last stretch. There was a focused, squinted expression on his red face as his legs pushed hard, flying past the finish line and braking into a jog past it. He then slowed to a walk, taking a few steps before stopping completely. Zayn looked on with the others as Harry stretched his side, chest rising and falling quickly, as he checked his watch. When he frowned, Zayn winced internally.

The race wrapped up completely within the next ten minutes, the scores coming out quickly as there were only two competing teams. Although, it still took a moment or two to find Harry in the mass of people, mostly spectators, hanging around. Louis, always the older brother, spotted him first.

"Oi! Curly!"

Zayn looked to where Louis was shouting and saw a head whip around. Harry pushed through the crowd, tipping back his water bottle, and joined them with a tired expression as he continued to chug water.

"Nice job, Harold. You looked.. fast," Louis complimented lamely, Eleanor under his arm.

Zayn figured Harry would laugh at Louis's dumb comment, but instead he frowned again. "Didn't come close to PRing, though. I still need to cut down my time in the next few weeks if I wanna place at Championships."

"Dude, you won. Enjoy it for a bit," Liam said.

Zayn wasn't sure how Liam knew already, but it seemed to be true as Harry just shrugged. "Wait, you won? Congratulations, Haz."

Despite standing next to him, Harry seemed to finally take in Zayn's presence after he spoke. "Oh- Yeah, thanks," he responded, blushing and scratching at the back of his neck. "We usually beat the other team, though. This meet is pretty lowkey," he explained, leaving out the obvious fact that he was the fastest on their own team.

"Still. You did great."

Harry shrugged again, but he finally smiled. "Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it."

The group fell into conversation about the race and Niall's personal highlights, including somebody stumbling at the start and a picture he took of Harry red-faced and nostrils flaring. Zayn was pleased as Harry moved closer to him after the discussion of the results died down. Eventually, they all got cold standing outside, Harry especially as his sweat evaporated and his heartbeat calmed.

Once Harry located his gym bag, the group started their trek back to the frat house. Harry and Zayn fell in step with the others, leading the pack up with Louis but still off in their own little world.

"Like your shirt, by the way," Harry commented casually. Zayn was wearing the henley Harry'd left at his place.

"Yeah?"

Harry nodded. "You look hot in my clothes."

As a model, that was kind of exactly Zayn's job, but he blushed nonetheless. Harry noticed, the asshole, and smirked at Zayn. "Wanna come back to mine?" _Wanna get this shirt stained with cum again?_

"Sure."

Neither kept their grins down very well as Harry mentioned to his Brothers that he was going to spend the night at Zayn's instead. Niall and Louis hollered, a few of the others joining in as Harry slid his hand into Zayn's back pocket and tugged him in the direction of his apartment, away from where the group headed.

They walked back in comfortable silence, Zayn tucked into Harry's side most of the way back. The runner knew his way to Zayn's apartment from anywhere on campus or in the city by now. Their library study sessions frequently ended in heading back to his place for dinner and a blowjob. Harry respected his lack of desire to be in the frat house, so Zayn's apartment was there go-to when they wanted to hang out.

He had also come over a few times to show Zayn new songs or the recordings he had made since the last they saw each other. They worked a little more on the concept of the album art but knew they wouldn't end up shooting it until the new semester, after the finals that were eating away at their amount of free time.

Zayn still met Louis nearly daily for lunch and met him after practice to do work and talk shit and smoke. They still sent each other memes and new music and Zayn picked up all of Louis's phone calls about the guys in the frat being idiots or his mom needing him to send a bit of money home or a barista who flirted with him. But Zayn walked with Harry to and from their Friday English classes, getting dinner from various take-out places.

They also finally started to watch the movies they debated the night of the Hadids' party, curling up on Zayn's bed and pulling up Netflix twice a week. Typically, they made it through the movie before Zayn started to rub his ass against Harry's crotch or Harry started kissing down Zayn's neck. On nights like those, they'd fool around for a bit before Zayn inevitably sent Harry back to his house with a paper to write or a frat party to throw. 

Harry had the sweatshirt, three beanies, an eyeliner pencil, and a black bomber jacket all owned by Zayn in his room. He also had a pack of cigarettes in his nightstand, he told Zayn, which had been left in the jacket pocket with a hair elastic. The elastic he wore every day around his wrist.

Zayn had the henley, a pair of jeans, three hoodies, a few pairs of running shorts, and about five t-shirts of Harry's in his apartment. These were accompanied by water bottles and a pair of earbuds and a few records Harry had lent him. There was a sauce stain on Zayn's stove that Harry hadn't cleaned up when he made mac and cheese once. The second toothbrush never moved back to its drawer under the sink. They'd traded an unknown amount of underwear, what with Harry ruining his and not wanting to walk back to his house in dirty briefs.

So, while Louis was irreplaceable (even if Zayn wanted to replace him), Harry started.. being around a lot more. In the few weeks since they first met to talk about the album, Harry'd already learned how to let himself up into Zayn's apartment when Zayn was finishing up classes for the day. Harry's contact was frequently at the top of Zayn's texts and he found himself looking forward to the next time he'd get to see Harry.

They didn't spend an exuberant amount of time together, especially not during the day. Harry was still a Division I athlete with Championships in two weeks. Their finals week would start two weeks after that. Zayn was still working, modeling as much as he could, and both were rather present in their respective party scenes, despite Zayn wishing he wasn't. Zayn consistently showed up to any Hadid get-together and often popped by, always late, to others hosted by models or coworkers just to network a bit and score some free weed (or shrooms, if Anwar was there).

But most weeknights, after classes and jobs and practices, they'd meet up to study or blow off steam or eat dinner or just lay eyes on each other. It was frequent enough for Harry to know his way to and around Zayn's apartment. It wasn't uncommon for Zayn to wake up after a nap and find Harry tucking away dishes in the cupboards or folding some laundry Zayn'd left out. The frat President seemed to love cleaning and Zayn wasn't one to deny the man any joy.

When they made it back to Zayn's building, he let them in and Harry joked about having to be carried up the stairs after his race. Zayn offered to leave him by the front entrance and Harry huffed but followed on his own feet nonetheless. They entered Zayn's apartment, Harry instantly dropping his bag on the floor by the shoe rack, the same place he left his things every time he came over. Zayn took off his jacket and hung it up in the hall closet.

He barely managed to shut the door when a hand grabbed his wrist and another grabbed his waist. Quickly, Harry turned him around and pressed his back against the door, slotting right up to Zayn's front. Once Zayn glanced upward, Harry leaned in and kissed him.

There was no rush behind it, just the lazy, sweet movement of soft lips against each other. Harry breathed out through his nose and sagged his weight against Zayn, pushing him further into the wood behind him. Exhausted and heavy, Harry's lips fell from Zayn's and his head came to rest on Zayn's shoulder.

"I'm gross. Sorry. I just really wanted to do that."

"It's fine," Zayn mumbled, one hand coming up and stroking Harry's back while the other played with the hair at the base of his spine. Both his back and hair were slightly sweaty and his body weight was slightly oppressive. But, Harry was drained of all energy and holding him, having Harry in his arms, was nice.

It was nice.

"You must be hungry. Wanna eat something? I've got some chicken left over from lunch, I think. And Lou told me to get you chocolate milk."

Harry's head lifted and his wide eyes blinked. "You- You got me chocolate milk?"

"Yeah, is that all right? Do you like it, or... Tommo's kind of a dick sometimes, so I don't know if he was joking-"

"No, it's fine. It's, like, the best post-workout drink ever. I fucking love chocolate milk after a race."

Zayn grinned. "Let's get some food in you and then you can go shower."

They did exactly that. Harry chugged a good amount of the half-gallon Zayn had bought, the latter vaguely worrying Harry may throw up after ingesting that much liquid so quickly. As he did so, Zayn reheated the chicken breast he'd made for lunch and threw together a salad. Zayn himself wasn't too hungry, so he ate a bowl of cereal while Harry wolfed down his meal. It was sort of disgusting to watch, athletes gorging after a sporting event, but Harry always stuck his tongue out before a bite and it was kind of adorable. He always seemed to contradict himself, in everything he did.

As Harry started to finish eating, Zayn slipped off to the bathroom to turn on the shower. His water took longer than usual to heat up, the frequent cause of Zayn's lateness, and he didn't want to make Harry wait. He was practically dead on his feet when they walked in, after all.

Harry met him in the doorway after putting their dishes in the sink, leaning against the frame with a worn expression on his face. "Thanks, babe."

"Of course. You look tired."

"Feeling a little better after eating, not gonna lie," Harry admitted, scratching the back of his head. "But, yeah. Kind of ashamed how wiped out I am after that. Definitely didn't push as hard as I should've."

Zayn shrugged and stepped up to him. "Maybe tonight was just an off-day. You still did great. It's just a reminder to sleep and eat well before next Saturday." It was an important point to make, seeing as balancing classes and President duties and work and a social life and, well, Zayn, all while trying to be the fastest runner at every meet wasn't really feasible. It wouldn't hurt Harry to take a bit more time for himself. Zayn told him as much.

"Maybe. I just let a stupid paper distract me for too long. Submitted it fifteen minutes before I got to the meet, so my head was still scattered from it."

Zayn hummed quietly in agreement. Harry's large palm fit perfectly in the dip of his waist, so Zayn leaned up and kissed him again. "Go shower," he muttered when they pulled apart.

"You're not coming with me?" Harry asked, feigning offense.

Zayn rolled his eyes but followed suit when Harry started undressing. "You just want shower head."

"Mm, you just look pretty on your knees."

Harry was right, of course, that Zayn looked positively gorgeous with his hair slicked back and dripping with water while his lips stretched around Harry's cock. They barely finished actually washing off their bodies before Zayn was slipping down. His knees kind of hurt from the hard tub beneath them, but it was worth it to see Harry's thighs tremble as Zayn licked over his tip. He would've felt slightly bad, knowing Harry's legs were probably sore already, but Harry's face was blissed out and his abs were taught. He was a tall, tan expanse of skin and muscle and inky tattoos above Zayn.

Always the responsible one, Harry had gotten tested less than a week after their first hook-up and, the next time he saw Zayn, explained that he was clean and wasn't seeing anybody else for the time being. Feeling somewhat guilty the longer he went without getting tested, Zayn did the same. After the conversation that followed about their comfort with not using protection, Zayn realized that, genuinely, neither of them were hooking up with someone else. They weren't actively trying to stay exclusive. It just meant they were seeing each other frequently enough for both of them to be satisfied, an uncommon occurrence on a college campus.

Nevertheless, it had led to Harry's mouth on Zayn's bare cock, so Zayn was content. It also led to Harry trying not to buck up his hips as he brushed water off of Zayn's cheeks.

"Fuck. S'good, Zee, so fuckin' good," Harry groaned, words slurring as they fell loosely from his tongue. "So pretty, babe, look so perfect."

Zayn hummed around him and took him deeper, the back of Harry's skull slamming against the wall as he threw his head back.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum-" Harry warned, his hips rolling up into the tight wet heat of Zayn's mouth.

Sure enough, he spilled down Zayn's throat soon after, Zayn hollowing his cheeks and sucking him clean as Harry's breath stuttered to a stop. He lightly nudged Zayn's shoulders away as his stomach fluttered from the sensitivity.

Harry helped Zayn up after he regained control of his lungs, pulling him up into a deep kiss. They turned the water off soon after, not wanting to drive Zayn's water bill through the roof. The latter brushed his teeth quickly and drank some water so his mouth stopped tasting like cum and his throat didn't feel coated. Harry toweled off as he waited, drying his hair as much as he could before collapsing onto Zayn's mattress.

"Thanks for that," Harry murmured, when Zayn climbed onto his lap and leaned down to kiss him.

"That's just what winners deserve," Zayn replied, cheekily. A horrible thought popped into his mind. "Don't you remember last year when the soccer team won their last game so Louis and I-"

"Nope!" Harry said quickly, hands coming up quickly to slam against his ears. "Nope, nope, I do _not_ want to hear about you and Louis fucking. Absolutely not."

Zayn laughed loudly, openly, as he tugged Harry's wrists down. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding; he's straight, anyway."

"Everyone's a _little_ bit gay."

"I think I'm a lot gay," Zayn said with a grin. It was dumb and a flat-out awful response, but it made Harry smile and Zayn really could say anything around him.

Harry's hands smoothed out across the tops of Zayn's bare thighs. "That was awful. I don't think I could tell you enough how lovely you are."

Zayn very, very rarely fell for anybody's dumb lines, Harry's included. The frat president had built up an incredible repertoire to make his countless casual partners feel as though they were actually special, when they were possibly not even the only one that night. Usually, Zayn laughed off the flirting or showed Harry, in some way, that he saw right through him. This time, and maybe it was how perfectly contradictory Harry was, Zayn's stomach swirled.

His cheeks heated pink so obviously that he ducked down to kiss Harry, only so he wouldn't notice. Harry welcomed him gladly, right hand reaching out to fumble for the lube on Zayn's nightstand halfway through the kiss. When he got a hold of it, Harry broke the kiss only to pour a bit on his hand. The moment he wrapped around Zayn's dick, he was kissing him again.

Zayn panted heavily when Harry's lips detached from his, instead nibbling Zayn's neck and collarbones as Zayn stretched up. He rocked forward into Harry's hands, his own pressed against the wall behind Harry's head for balance. The glide and Harry's tight fist felt heavenly as Zayn writhed in his lap.

Sucking a particularly pretty bruise into Zayn's skin, Harry's free hand found its way under Zayn's thigh and pulled up lightly, indicating for him to lift off of Harry's lap. Zayn did so, rising up onto his knees. Harry's hand fell away from him for a moment, before Zayn felt the pad of a finger press over his hole and he inhaled sharply.

"Yeah?" Harry mumbled.

Zayn nodded frantically.

Returning to the bottle of lube, Harry coated a few fingers and kissed Zayn's chest as he circled around the tight ring of fluttering muscle. As he slowly pushed his middle finger in, Zayn's hand wrapped around his own dick as he tried to sink back on Harry's finger.

It didn't take long before a second was nudging against his entrance and Zayn hissed out a quick "Yes, fuck, _please_." Harry obliged, the stretch burning just right as he pumped in and out.

Once Zayn seemed adjusted, Harry started interchangeably petting his walls, to look for the right spot, and scissoring his fingers. He found what he was looking for quickly, Zayn whimpering slightly and pushing back for more. Harry pressed against it a few more times, teasingly, before slipping in a third, slicked finger and properly going after what Zayn wanted.

He was still holding himself above Harry, choking out quick breaths and whining softly. His legs started to tremble as Harry stroked his prostate mercilessly, muscles feeling weak as he tried not to beg for more. Harry noticed, worried Zayn wouldn't be able to support himself for much longer. Quickly and easily, Harry pulled his fingers out and wrapped his free arm around Zayn's waist. He flipped them over, pressing Zayn against the mattress for a moment before Harry sat back on his knees between Zayn's spread legs.

"So tight, Zee," Harry mumbled as he drizzled more slick over his fingers and rubbed Zayn's hole again.

Zayn moaned softly as Harry pushed into him again, building up his pace and pressure to where it was before Zayn was on his back. It didn't take long, with Zayn jacking himself off and Harry working his prostate, for Zayn to finish. He came with a choked groan of Harry's name, spilling into his hand as he squirmed slightly.

Harry kissed him once he was done and carefully removed his fingers. He pulled back only to get a hand on himself again, not taking long before he streaked the inside of Zayn's thigh with a few whispered curses. Despite his two orgasms and the 10k he ran earlier that night, Harry took his time to clean Zayn up with a few tissues.

"They hurt?" he asked softly as Zayn pressed a thumb into the marks Harry had left.

Zayn shook his head. "I like them."

Harry grinned brightly, tossing the tissues toward the nearest garbage can before he was falling next to Zayn on the mattress. "You mind if I stay over?"

"Not at all," Zayn answered, facing Harry and reaching up to turn off his light. He hadn't objected when Harry mentioned it to the group after the meet and he wasn't planning to now. "You got anything tomorrow?"

"Just a Council meeting and some homework for Monday," Harry said, turning onto his side toward the clothing racks and the easel behind them. 

Like it was second nature, Zayn squeezed closer so he was plastered to Harry's back, one leg thrown over his waist and an arm squeezing his torso while the other snaked under their pillows. Harry hummed warmly and scooted back, further into Zayn's chest, while Zayn's nose brushed the base of his neck.

They'd managed to fit in some naps over the past few weeks, but Harry hadn't been able to stay the night since the first time. There was always something, between the two of them, to do later or early the next morning. Papers, photoshoots, sports events or practices, classes - the timing simply hadn't worked out. As Zayn breathed in the scent of his soap on Harry's skin, he couldn't help the pleasant feeling in his chest at the prospect of waking up tomorrow to Harry still in his bed.

Unfortunately, it wasn't nearly as cute as he thought it'd be. Harry looked peaceful as he slept, sure, but his face was puffy and Zayn was uncomfortably warm from having someone pressed against him the entire night. Both of their hair had been somewhat wet when they fell asleep, so Harry's curls were more pronounced and slightly frizzy. And incredible lopsided. Zayn pulled his own hair into a topknot in the bathroom when he noticed the lumps.

Zayn brushed his teeth while he was in the bathroom and started brewing coffee once he made it into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter while watching Harry sleep, awkwardly rumpled and snoring softly. By the time he woke up, with a soft groan and a full-body stretch, Zayn had moved to the couch with a mug of caffeine.

"G'morning," Harry yawned out from the mattress, arching his back again.

A few pops from his shoulders sounded as he reached up and twisted. Zayn looked on with an amused, but vaguely concerned, expression. "Are you, like, okay?" he asked as Harry stood up and his body cracked.

"Fine," Harry groaned, bending his neck to each side. "Just didn't cool-down as much as I should've from the race. You got Advil?"

Zayn explained where to find the medicine in his bathroom and Harry disappeared for a moment. The water ran and he appeared again in the doorway, foamy toothbrush in his mouth. He stood there for a moment, just watching Zayn watch him, before he retreated and spit into the sink.

"I was gonna wake you up with breakfast," Harry said, crossing the room to stand between Zayn's knees as he sat on the couch.

"Yeah?"

"Was gonna try and make pancakes. I guess it's a waste of time, now that you're up."

Zayn shook his head eagerly. "Absolutely not. I will eat pancakes no matter when they are presented to me."

Harry's grin was goofy, a spot of toothpaste dried in the corner of his mouth. "I hope you have flour. And chocolate chips."

Reaching up to Harry, Zayn pulled him in for a quick kiss after wiping the toothpaste off his skin. Obviously, he didn't want to be a bad host, so Zayn sat on a stool by the counter and blabbed on about an upcoming shoot he was doing with a friend while Harry mixed ingredients in a big metal bowl. Harry asked questions about fabrics while he spooned the batter onto an oiled frying pan. Per request, Zayn hopped up for a moment to put on a Fleetwood Mac record while Harry searched for a spatula to flip the pancakes.

Once he had five stacked on one plate and two neatly placed on another, Harry slid onto the stool next to Zayn so they could eat at the counter. He finished his five in less time than it took for Zayn to eat his two, but they were fluffy and the chocolate chips had melted perfectly. Harry was right; he was an excellent chef.

In return for Zayn inevitably doing his laundry, because Harry always left sweaty workout clothes on Zayn's floor instead of cramming them into his bag, Harry cleaned their dishes and put them away nicely. He knew how Zayn's small kitchen was organized, partly because he was the one organizing it for the past few weeks. 

By the time he was done, the time to leave was encroaching quickly if he wanted to prepare for his meeting. Harry pulled on a pair of Zayn's underwear and sweatpants, but Zayn managed to fish out one of the countless t-shirts Harry'd left. Once dressed, Harry grabbed his phone off the second charger Zayn had bought for him to use when he came over because Harry never seemed to remember one. He gathered up the rest of his things and Zayn walked him to the door.

"Text me when you get home," Zayn said.

Harry leaned down to kiss him. "Will do," he promised, after. "I'll see you. Tomorrow, if you're around?" Zayn nodded and Harry gave him one more quick kiss before opening the door.

"Wait!" Zayn shouted suddenly, Harry turning around confusedly. "I feel like I'm doing you a disservice."

"What?"

"Your friends know you stayed over and I'm sending you home without anything for them to tease you about."

Harry stared at Zayn blankly. "I'm wearing your sweats."

"I know, but..."

Harry sighed loudly and tilted his head to the side, a finger coming up to hook in the collar of his shirt and pull it. "Fine. Have at it."

Grinning happily, Zayn attached his lips to Harry. He stood in the doorway, actively trying not to get hard before he had to leave, while Zayn sucked hickeys onto his neck. A good few bruises littered his skin when Zayn finally pulled back, his own lips a bit pinker than they were before.

"You're immature."

"You look hot like this," Zayn corrected, giving Harry one more kiss. As he left, Harry slapped Zayn's ass.

They did end up connecting on Monday. It was only a study session in the library, but Harry managed to break up the four straight hours of work by jacking them both off quickly in the bathrooms. He'd cupped his other palm over Zayn's lips when he couldn't stop whimpering and Zayn wanted to explore his desire for Harry to move his hand lower at a later date. The thought of his long fingers bruising not his hips but his neck was a little too enticing for him to ignore.

The shoot in the moonlight Zayn had mentioned to Harry over pancakes was that night, however, so they didn't make it back to Zayn's apartment after the library. By the time Zayn's Versace shoot came out, they hadn't been in contact for the past couple of days, the longest since the meeting Louis set up between them.

Zayn woke up on Thursday to a few congratulatory texts from the Hadid sisters and one from Louis. A few others whom he'd worked with sent messages, but Zayn ignored them. He logged onto his social media to repost the official pictures from Versace, fingertips buzzing as he did so. His own eyes stared at him from the screen. He still couldn't really believe it.

His follower count had risen significantly since the previous day, most likely from Gigi and Bella sharing the posts. Versace was massive, sure, but being the face of their campaign didn't seem to generate as much attention as an international celebrity like either of the Hadids did. Still, Zayn was grateful. And unbelievably excited for this career moment.

The hard work he'd put in got him to parties where the right people knew the right people who knew Gigi. As soon as she saw his face she was interested, but their first few dates went well enough that she genuinely liked him. A year and a half of dating on-and-off came to an official end the summer after Zayn's Junior year. As difficult as it was, she still stuck by his side. Time was their biggest issue, not their love. When she heard Versace was looking for fresh meat, pretty enough for the public to like but talented and disciplined enough to be able to handle the crazy schedule and intense pressure, Gigi immediately got Zayn in the room.

He would die thanking her for the opportunity, but she'd insisted she could only recommend him because of his perseverance and drive. Plus, she added, she only got him into the applicant pool. Zayn was the one who earned himself the job.

His mom reiterated the statement on their call as he walked to his first class of the day. She commended him on the photos, which truly did look stunning, but also on his decision to finish his degree. With Versace on his resume and Gigi Hadid in his corner, anybody he spoke to agreed he could drop out and support himself on modeling. But he had a few weeks to finals and then one more semester before he was done. It felt weak to drop out now, so he stuck with it. If anything were to happen, he'd feel better with the degree. Also, he had little sisters to set an example for, all of whom shouted through the phone in celebration.

Eventually, Zayn had to hang up as he was standing outside of his class which started in a minute. His mom gushed her delight and final goodbyes as students filed past him into the room, ignoring him completely as he grinned into his phone. When he hung up, he had a text from his dad expressing his pride in Zayn. He'd already left for work by the time Zayn's mom had called from the car as she drove Zayn's sisters to school. 

Floating through the rest of the day with an easy grin on his face, Zayn felt like he was high. None of his classmates knew; nobody in the hallways or on the paths across campus recognized him. But they didn't care. If they did, about fashion or about Zayn, they would. That was enough for him.

Gigi insisted on throwing a party for him that he could show up to late, but he managed to talk her into hosting it Friday night so he didn't go to his classes tomorrow hungover. So, when he'd attended to all of the required and pressing things in his schedule, Zayn headed home. He sighed in relief, a long and low exhale, as he dropped onto his couch. It was out. The shoot and the clothing line were both officially out and Zayn's phone wouldn't stop buzzing with notifications.

The whole thing was slightly overwhelming, trying to wrap his around the astronomical career move he just made while an unbelievable amount of attention poured from his social media and inboxes. It made him that much more grateful that Gigi had kept him private when they dated. He wouldn't want this level of publicity without feeling like he even slightly deserved it. And his agent wouldn't stop reaching out with job and interview offers.

Despite all this, Zayn was a college student. He had a paper due by midnight tomorrow and a party to attend that night, so he turned off his phone and opened his computer.

The next few hours passed quietly, the only sound in his apartment that of his fingers hitting his laptop's keyboard. Zayn toggled between tabs as he researched child development for one of his primary education classes. He had managed to finish drafting all paragraphs except for the conclusion when a knock sounded from his front door. Glancing at the time in the top right corner of his screen, Zayn realized it was past 8pm and he hadn't eaten dinner.

He was pretty sure he had Chinese leftovers in his fridge, he thought to himself as he rose from the couch and moved to answer the door.

Harry was on the other side of it with a bottle of champagne in each hand.

"Surprise!"

"Harry? What're you doing here?" Zayn asked, stepping back to let the runner into his house.

Harry slipped his backpack off his shoulder and onto the floor. He toed off his sneakers and gestured with the bottles he was holding. "I'm here to celebrate! I texted you, like, an hour ago, but you never responded. I figured I'd just swing by and see if you were around."

"Oh, sorry," Zayn replied, heading into his kitchen and hopping up on the counter. "I was working on a paper so I turned my phone off because it was blowing up."

"You were working on a paper?" Harry asked, pausing his trip to the kitchen and furrowing his eyebrows.

"Yeah."

"Really?"

Zayn answered his question with a question, laughing slightly. "Why are you confused by that?" 

"Because you're a Versace model? Duh?"

Harry grinned and finished walking up to Zayn, putting the champagne on the counter next to Zayn's thighs. The model dropped his head and shook it as he blushed. "C'mon. Let's pop these. I brought one to shake and completely waste and another to drink."

Zayn looked up into sparkling green eyes, crinkled in the corners, and kissed Harry. Strong arms wrapped around him as Harry stood between his knees. "Thanks for coming," Zayn whispered when they pulled apart.

"Of course," Harry said honestly, like he would never not come. Like there was nowhere else he'd be today. Like he was always planning to be there, despite only finding out today about the Versace photoshoot. And that was the point; that was what made him Harry and what made Zayn want him around.

Zayn's mom had been overly excited, but she was just as vibrant when he'd booked his first modeling gig and nearly every one after that. Louis and Gigi and Bella's words of congratulations were all touching and meaningful, but Zayn knew they would be.

Here was a guy who'd, really, been in Zayn's life for less than four weeks and knew next-to-nothing about the fashion industry. Harry was the president of a frat and the star of their cross country and track teams and he was kissing Zayn in his apartment with unbridled joy for his success. He was the hook-up who did Zayn's dishes and deepthroated him to The Beatles and spent thirty-seven minutes rewatching an Usher music video over and over the first time he did shrooms. And here he was, surprising Zayn with champagne the day his Versus Versace shoot dropped.

"I'm thinking we do the fun one in your tub. Or we can go outside, if you like," Harry mentioned conversationally, like Zayn hadn't been overwhelmed the whole day and was just now realizing how much Harry might accidentally mean to him.

"Yeah. Sure," Zayn breathed out. "Tub's fine."

"Sick," Harry replied with a grin.

He offered Zayn a hand and helped him hop down from the counter, grabbing the cheap bottle and leading them into the bathroom. Zayn drew back the shower curtain and Harry grabbed his phone from one back pocket and a wine key from the other. Once Zayn climbed into the tub, Harry passed him the latter item from his pocket and the champagne. He opened his camera app.

"You're not coming in?"

Harry shook his head. "Wanna film it. That's the whole point of doing it, after all," he said wisely. Zayn laughed at him but he started recording a video anyway.

Grinning, Harry watched through the screen as Zayn cut the foil away from the top of the bottle. With a thumb on the cork, he shook the bottle vigorously. Harry shouted encouragement from behind his phone. Zayn laughed again and shook harder, arms raising up and falling down as he flicked his wrists. Once he deemed the carbonation properly stirred, he quickly tucked the bottle under his shirt and twisted the cork out. A loud pop sounded and Zayn immediately pulled the bottle away from himself, pressing his thumb over the opening so the champagne sprayed with a higher pressure.

Harry whooped and hollered and Zayn shook the bottle again so some more champagne might fly out. He giggled as Harry ended the video, noticing his shirt and jeans were soaked in alcohol. Harry, still dry, stepped into the tub with him and sympathetically let Zayn turn it upside down on his head. Based on Zayn's surprised guffaw, more liquid sloshed over Harry than he thought was left in the bottle.

"Sorry," Zayn giggled out at Harry's unimpressed look. The top of his hair was matted and the champagne was dripping down the back of his neck and onto his shoulders. Zayn licked the wet tip of his nose but drew back at the taste. He held out the bottle to properly read the label.

"That bottle was, like, four dollars. I did not recommend drinking it, did I?" Harry pointed out.

"I'm surprised it had a cork," Zayn commented, carefully stepping out of the tub so as not to slip.

Harry followed after him, grabbing towels from the shelf. "Pretty sure it technically wasn't even champagne."

Stripping out of his wet shirt and pulling a towel around his shoulders, Zayn snorted. "Let's go get buzzed."

"Absolutely," Harry said with a grin.

When they made it back to the kitchen, Zayn took his time to read the bottle before rather than after opening it. The label was a white rectangle, framed with a clean gold line which matched the foil at the top. The logo was elegant script and stood for something French. The bottle itself was dark, nearly black.

His eyes flitted over the brand name and he blanched. "Harry," he began slowly, "this is, like, $180 champagne."

"Something like that." Harry's wince implied it was more.

Zayn held out the bottle for Harry to take back. "I can't accept this."

"You can." Harry pushed it back to Zayn. "It's a gift, one you absolutely deserve."

Biting back his refute of _no, I don't_ , Zayn looked down at it again. He knew Harry wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "If you're sure..."

"I am."

Taking a deep breath, Zayn fished out the wine key. He cut the gold foil away again, this time grabbing a dish cloth to wrap around the top. He twisted carefully, putting pressure on the cork so it wouldn't pop too soon. Once it felt ready, he pulled it out. The pop was a much more satisfying sound this time around. He delicately poured the champagne into the glasses Harry had gotten down from his cabinets.

Meticulously, Zayn took a small sip. He let the alcohol coat his tongue before swallowing. It felt smooth going down despite the bright bubbles. There was a deep fruity taste, not quite sweet, and an oaky, earthy flavor. It was clearly very good champagne, although Zayn couldn't really explain why. He wasn't a sommelier by any standards.

"I asked the guy for help and he mentioned this one had hints of tobacco. Made me think of you." Harry had a shit-eating grin behind his glass.

Zayn rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle off the counter as he moved to the couch. "It's lovely. Thanks, Haz."

Harry pulled Zayn into his lap easily, Zayn yelping as he tried not to spill any champagne. Once they were settled, Zayn's back against Harry's front and tilted so he was slightly on Harry's thighs, Harry clinked their glasses together. They drank the champagne as Harry lured Zayn into enthusing over the Versus Versace campaign. He described Gigi introducing him to Donatella and how talented the creative director for the shoot was. 

Extensively complimenting the photos of Zayn, Harry poured them both second glasses. He explained how Louis sent him the link to the video ad, how he saw Bella first and thought it was cool and then Zayn was there, dressed in Versace, and Harry lost his shit. Zayn shared a similar sentiment, admitting how he barely kept it together while shooting. Bella, adoringly, brought him back to hers and Gigi's after the first day. The three of them had a dance party together, he told Harry, just the three of them in the Hadids' living room to celebrate and to help Zayn release his nervous energy.

When they finished their second glasses, Harry offered to pour more. Zayn waved him off. "I'm good. Gonna try and finish this paper tonight."

"Oh, right. If you wanna work on it, I can head out."

"You don't have to just yet. I haven't got classes tomorrow 'til the afternoon. Probably will be up late anyway."

"Lucky. I've got 7am practice. Should probably stop, too, so I don't get a headache."

"The bubbles do go to your head."

Harry agreed and set his empty glass on the table, tugging Zayn along once he leaned further back into the couch. Zayn giggled but went easily, melting into Harry's hold.

Sighing, Harry nuzzled Zayn's shoulder. "I don't mean this in, like, a rude or objectifying way, but I kind of can't believe I've fucked a Versace model."

Tilting his face, Zayn leaned back so he could look at Harry. "Technically, you haven't."

Harry hummed. "Maybe we should remedy that."

"Maybe we should." Zayn shifted in his lap.

"Are you drunk?" Harry stared at his mouth.

"No. Pleasantly buzzed. I'm not even tipsy."

The champagne may have been strong, but their tolerances were stronger. Bless being college students and avid drinkers.

Harry's eyes followed Zayn's tongue as it swiped through the seam of his mouth. "Same," he murmured.

There was a brief pause, before lips crashed into lips.

The angle was awkward and Zayn quickly turned to straddle Harry. He managed to do so without breaking this kiss and worked a hand into Harry's hair. He tugged. Harry groaned as he squeezed the tops of Zayn's thighs. 

Grinding down in Harry's lap, Zayn met hips rolling up. They both breathed sharply at the friction. Harry broke the kiss and looked into Zayn's eyes. "You like it when I manhandle you, right?" Zayn nodded hurriedly. "Yeah? Want it rough tonight?"

"Please," Zayn whined, ducking in for another kiss.

Harry entertained him for another moment or two before pulling away again. "Can you tell me what you want?"

"You to fuck me," Zayn answered, leaning in again.

Harry laughed and kissed him briefly. "Gathered that, babe. I meant how. We haven't spoken much about how you like to be fucked."

"Wanna see you." Zayn wriggled in Harry's lap again. If they were going to stop kissing to talk, he was going to make it difficult for Harry. "Want you to pin my hips down and fuck me hard."

"What else do you like, Zee?" Harry asked, thumbs rubbing over his hipbones. Zayn couldn't help but admit Harry was making a necessary conversation productive and, well, hot.

"I like it when you give me hickeys. And when you talk - when you tell me how good it is."

"Yeah? Do you like it when I call you 'baby?'"

Zayn nodded. "Wouldn't mind it if you called me a slut."

Eyebrows raised and smirking, Harry asked his last question. "Anything else I should know?"

"I want you to choke me."

With that, Harry was hoisting Zayn up and rising off the couch. He took a few broad steps to the foot of the bed and promptly threw Zayn onto it. Skin flushing warmly, Zayn's bare back hit the mattress and he bounced lightly up the bed.

Harry whipped his top over his head, a maroon crewneck sweatshirt, and slipped the white exercise shorts from his hips. His underwear quickly joined the pile before Harry was climbing onto the bed, hands already reaching for the waistband of Zayn's jeans.

Zayn lifted his hips so Harry could pull them down his legs along with his boxer-briefs, dumping the clothes to the side. He laid between Zayn's open legs, propping himself up slightly on his hands. Harry kissed Zayn tongue-first, loosening them both up with something familiar.

"Love it when you're spread out under me," Harry admitted as he reached for the nightstand.

Zayn inhaled sharply and Harry tossed the bottle of lube and a condom onto the bed by Zayn's hip. He kissed Zayn deeply before slipping down to his neck. Harry took his time leaving bruises below Zayn's jaw and on his collar bones and one right below his nipple. He kissed the bright red lips on his chest down to the black heart by his hip and the messy scrawl on the other side reading _don't think I won't._ _.._

"You're a fucking tease, aren't you?"

"'Might as well...'" Zayn quoted, referencing to the tattoo Harry had in the same place. The coincidence would be almost comical, if the statements themselves weren't.

"Fair fuckin' point."

Harry nosed the inside of Zayn's thigh softly before carefully wrapping his lips around the head of Zayn's cock. Zayn inhaled deeply, eyes falling shut as he chose to lose himself in the feeling of Harry's warm mouth. By the time Harry was bobbing his head up and down slowly, sucking firmly and taking about half of Zayn's length, he lifted under Zayn's knees to rest Zayn's legs over his shoulders.

Comfortably in between Zayn's thighs, Harry opened the bottle of lube. He popped off Zayn's cock to make sure he didn't make a mess while he slicked up his fingers, Zayn's legs sliding off his shoulders. "Turn over, baby."

"Wanna see you," Zayn mumbled, face heating up even as he admitted it.

Harry patted the side of his thigh. "I know, you will. It'll just be easier to open you up."

Flushed, Zayn did as Harry requested, turning over onto his stomach. He turned his face to the side and held the pillow underneath him. Suddenly, Harry's arm was underneath his waist and tugging him up, so Zayn's knees were on the bed and his ass was in the air. Harry's middle finger circled Zayn's hole, pressing lightly against his skin as Zayn moaned.

Slowly, Harry pushed one finger into Zayn, cursing as he did so. "You're all warm and pink for me. And so fuckin' tight." As he began to pump his finger, Zayn tried to turn his head and catch a glimpse of what Harry was doing. However, as Zayn attempted to lift himself up slightly, Harry placed his wide palm between Zayn's shoulder blades and held him down. "Don't be a slut. You'll see when I want you to," Harry said, voice easy and confident like he was barely paying Zayn any attention.

Zayn's skin felt warm as Harry's voice surged pleasure through his body.

It didn't take long for Harry to have Zayn moaning against his pillow and rocking onto Harry's fingers. He was loosened and open, ready to be fucked. All Harry had to do was grab Zayn by the hips and flip him over to have Zayn writhing. Ever the gentleman, Harry took the time to slide a pillow under Zayn's lower back before he rolled the condom over himself.

"You sure about this?" Harry asked, one hand on Zayn's hip and the other holding himself.

"Yeah. Fuck me."

Slowly but surely, Harry guided himself into Zayn, first the blunt head of his cock stretching Zayn's rim until he slipped in and then the rest of his shaft pressing deep into Zayn. Finding no obvious discomfort on Zayn's face, Harry gently pulled out part of the way and then rocked back in, his movement shallow and drawn out. It only took a few more thrusts for Zayn to link his fingers behind Harry's head and tug him down for a kiss.

"Hi," Harry said when they pulled apart, forehead resting on Zayn's. His dumb, big, dopey grin was out as he pushed repeatedly into Zayn, eyes sparkling and cheeks pink as he kissed Zayn again.

"Hi," Zayn giggled out, Harry's face right above his.

"I know we said rough, but you're so fucking precious."

The tips of Zayn's ears heated up.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Harry groaned out as he pressed deeper than he had before, hips moving with a bit more pressure. "That- That picture--of you dressed in Versace and your perfect fucking hair all messy and the lights red--I saw it and wanted to fucking wreck you. All pouty and breathtaking. Just wanted to fuck you so good."

"Please," Zayn whined, thighs wrapped around Harry's waist.

Harry's long movements quickened slightly, rhythm steady and firm as he continued to glide in and out of Zayn. "Part of- Part of me just wanted to- to hold you. Just wanted to sit you in my lap and wrap you in my sweatshirt and kiss you. Looked so soft and warm." Zayn's head swam with the sweet, domestic comments as Harry fucked into him. "But I knew I'd--fuck--give you whatever you wanted. And you wanted my cock, isn't the right, baby?"

Groaning, Zayn's head tilted back into the pillow as he arched his back, trying to press Harry closer to the right spot inside of him. Harry took the bared neck as an opportunity, biting into Zayn's skin and leaving a dark bruise before he leaned back.

"Damn, baby, you're so fucking tight."

Right as Harry said so, his cock nudged the inside of Zayn just right and a spark ran up and down his spine. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Right there. Do that again, Haz, please."

"Yeah? Does it feel good? Tell me, Zee, tell me how good you feel."

Zayn whined again, hips rolling up to meet Harry's. "So big," he groaned out, without thinking. Sure enough, Harry was smirking when Zayn looked down at him. Having half the mind to take it back just because of the obvious ego boost that went straight to Harry's head, Zayn had to consciously stop himself from rolling his eyes. He hadn't lied, after all, and it wasn't as if Harry didn't deserve the compliment. "Feel so fuckin' good, Haz, fucking me just right. Taking care of me with your big cock." Zayn wasn't lying, but the dirty talk didn't feel as natural falling from his lips as it sounded from Harry.

"You look stunning all pink," Harry praised, one thumb coming up to press into the bruise on Zayn's neck. "And purple."

Exhaling sharply as Harry pushed in, Zayn's hand tugged upward on Harry's wrist. Harry followed Zayn's pull and placed his hand on Zayn's neck.

"Tap me twice if it's too much, okay?"

Zayn nodded, baring his neck more and trying to get Harry to tighten his grip.

"Zayn. Verbal answer. I want you to practice it."

"Yeah, I will," Zayn promised. With the hand that had been on Harry's wrist, Zayn took two fingers and carefully hit the skin on Harry's forearm.

It was strange to pause and practice while Harry was still inside of him, but it made Zayn feel that much more comfortable with trusting Harry. Although his expression remained relaxed, Zayn could see Harry's eyes watching carefully for any resistance as his hand settled on Zayn's neck. However, none came as his middle and ring finger squeezed on one side and his thumb did so on the other. He held his grip for a few seconds, long enough for Zayn's brain to just begin to become fuzzy.

Harry loosened his grip for a few moments, allowing Zayn to come back almost to full clarity before he squeezed again. As Zayn whined beneath him, Harry began to push harder into him, thrusts getting sharper and quicker. Applying the short instructions from Zayn earlier, Harry was pressing against Zayn's prostate nearly every time.

"Perfect tight ass. You look so sexy all fucked out, just begging for it like a slut, baby, just wanting me

It didn't take long for the stimulation to build up, especially as Zayn's mind felt hazy and the only thing he could think of was the pleasure. Zayn wrapped a hand around his cock and tugged, as in time with Harry as he could be, and came quickly. Harry fucked him through his orgasm, but his hand retreated from Zayn's neck and his hips slowed as Zayn tried to catch his breath.

"Want me to pull out?" Harry hummed.

"No," Zayn said, panting slightly. "You can keep going. Want you to finish in me."

"Okay. I'm pretty close, anyway," Harry promised, fingers wrapping around Zayn's hipbone. 

Angling himself slightly different so he wasn't repeatedly ramming the sensitive bundle of nerves, Harry picked up his pace again. He seemed to let himself go, more than he had before, as his head tipped back and his eyes fell shut. His thrusts were hard and fast but they lost their rhythm quickly. Zayn felt him unravel so he tightened around Harry as his cock throbbed inside of Zayn.

Once he finished working himself down from the high, Harry gingerly pulled out of Zayn, both wincing at the cold air. He stripped himself of the condom and tied it off, placing it on the pile of dirty tissues Zayn had left on the floor from cleaning himself up.

Harry collapsed partially on top of and partially next to Zayn, his usual post-coital cuddle position, and nuzzled his face into Zayn's neck. He was definitely a cuddler, slow to pull himself away after sex. Zayn couldn't help but think how ineffective and annoying that would be for one-night-stands, wondering slightly if Harry was this affectionate with everyone he hooked up with or just Zayn.

"Congratulations, Versace model," Harry said, voice muffled against Zayn's skin.

Zayn smiled to himself and ran his fingertips up and down Harry's back. "Thanks, babe. I appreciate you coming. And, well, cumming."

A loud snort sounded and Harry pulled himself away from Zayn to look him in his eyes. "That was awful. Like, me-level horrific."

"Shut up," Zayn replied with a grin, tugging Harry back in.

Harry hummed as he pressed his face against Zayn again, relaxing into the warmth surrounding him. It wasn't particularly comfortable for either one of them. Harry was a heavy, dead weight squishing Zayn, who was somewhat bony and not the most comfortable pillow. They were both awkwardly sweaty and the room smelled like cum and their skin was sticky from the bodily fluids and the champagne that soaked through their clothes. Harry's hair absolutely smelled like alcohol as Zayn nosed his curls, but neither one of them wanted to move.

Unfortunately, they had to.

"I have to leave, don't I?" Harry grumbled out after a bit of cuddling.

"Yeah, I think so. I've got to finish that paper and you've got practice tomorrow morning."

Eyes bleary and face pink, Harry raised his head to squint at Zayn. His lips were full and shiny as he twisted them into a pout. "I fucking hate Friday morning practices. They should be illegal."

"Then become Team Captain and ban them," Zayn offered, brushing some hair out of Harry's eyes and off his forehead.

Harry kissed him--lazy and tasting slightly bitter like Zayn's cock--oh so lovely.

He exhaled heavily and groaned as he hoisted himself up and off of Zayn, planting his feet onto the floor and standing up from the bed. "I don't want to go," he whined childishly, even as he pulled on his underwear and maroon crewneck.

"I know," Zayn consoled, rolling on his side to watch Harry get dressed. "I wish you could stay the night.

"Ugh, don't tempt me," Harry said, grumpy until Zayn beckoned him over for a kiss.

Zayn's lips always seemed to make things better.

But Harry still had to leave, so he continued getting dressed and gathered up his things. Once he'd slipped his Vans on, he trotted back over to Zayn for a soft kiss and a sweet goodbye. With one more whisper of congratulations, Harry was smiling and walking out of Zayn's apartment.

Zayn flopped onto his back the moment the door closed, digging the heels of his palms into his eye sockets as he tried to make sense of the weird tension in his throat and chest. He gave himself a few moments to breathe before dropping his hands and swinging himself up into a sitting position.

There was a paper to write, whether or not Zayn had just had sex with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I feel like this one's kind of shorter and very dialogue-heavy BUT I really wanted to get it out because the next chapter is literally the reason why I started this fic so I'm a bit more excited about that one.
> 
> Also, I forgot how long writing takes me. I love it, but it takes h o u r s longer than I think. I've got a 60k+ fic sitting in my drafts since August that I'm slowly writing. I absolutely adore it but it's so dense that I'm worried about finishing it. I've also got a note full of other ideas that I totally want to work on, lolol. 
> 
> (If anyone wants to be my beta and motivate me to actually finish my 6 (6!) drafts and 2 WIPs, Let me know! My tumblr is @imasmallbi and I check DMs but don't really post much.)
> 
> Leave comments/kudos if you'd like!


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